Night-Out
by Lady Sosostris
Summary: It's a Saturday night in Tokyo. It's a perfect night to go out to dance, drink and celebrate - to toast to your twenties, the golden years. Yet Natsume Hyuuga's night takes a strange turn after he's punched in the jaw by some random, dancing drunk girl. Who knew being punched lead to playful conversations with a pretty girl? But hey, cheers to fate and its strange ways, right?
1. Hung Up

A/N: I don't own Alice Gakuen.

 **Hung Up**

* * *

Natsume craned his neck, and as gracefully as he could, he held his phone between his left ear and his left shoulder, trying his best to continue the conversation with his little sister as he brushed his teeth with his right hand. His left held the comb he had been searching for so diligently and he maneuvered himself around his living room, making his way to the bathroom.

" _So, what you're saying is, you're not coming tomorrow?"_

Natsume groaned, stopped brushing, and tried his best to reply coherently through the minty foam. "I told you, I don't know. It depends whether or not I'm hungover tomorrow. Hold on," finally reaching the sink, Natsume put his phone down and turned the tap on, spat, rinsed his mouth, spat again and turned the tap off. He picked up his phone and held it to his ear, resuming the conversation fluidly, "Just tell mum I might not come. It won't kill her."

" _It won't kill_ her, _it'll kill_ me! _I don't want to hear dad give another speech about his boring paintings."_

Natsume sniggered; he didn't blame his little sister. He couldn't think of anything worse than listening to his father drone on about his 'Portrait Era' for two hours on a Sunday morning at a stuffy gallery, hangover or no hangover.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and with the comb that took him an eternity to find, he began brushing his hair down. "I promise I'll go to his next talk and cover for you, alright? Besides, dad won't care. Just remind mum that I'm going to—"

" _Luca's coming out party; yes, yes, you've said so a thousand times. You know she's still angry that you didn't invite her?_ "

"For good reason." God, his hair was a mess. "She hates loud music and crowds—"

"—So do you, loser," Aoi pointed out.

Ignoring her, he continued, "—she'd spent the whole night complaining. Remind her that Luca has already promised her that she can organize a lunch for him. She can show her support to Luca then."

Natsume's best friend, Luca Nogi, had come out three weeks ago to his family and close friends at the age of twenty-six. Luca had stuttered through his speech, blushed furiously, blinked incessantly, but he was ultimately met with a supportive cheer and warm hugs from all those surrounding him. Since then, excitement bubbled palpably in the air. Two weeks ago, when Luca and Natsume were watching the football game, Mochu had galloped into the room and announced that he had set up a Grindr account for Luca. One week ago, Natsume had bought a Tom Hardy calendar for his best friend. Three days ago, Koko proclaimed that he had organized a night-out for the boys at Tokyo's famous gay club, _Reo,_ in Shinjuku.

And tonight was the night: tonight, they were on _Reo_ 's guest list (courtesy of Koko), tonight would their first night out at a gay club.

"Aoi, I better go. Mochu's arriving any minute now."

" _Fine. But let me know if you change your mind and decide to come to dad's talk tomorrow, okay?"_

"I will." (He doubted he'd change his mind.)

" _Have fun! Send Lu-chan my love."_

"Will do. See you."

Right on schedule, Natsume's doorbell rang.

It was Mochu.

"Hey, man," Mochu held two six-packs, and Natsume took one to help his friend, "help yourself," Mochu said, indicating to the beer.

"Thanks. Luca will be here in ten minutes and we're meeting Koko there."

Without preamble, Mochu helped himself to a beer and chugged it down. "You need to sort out your hair," he commented with a grin, "you look feral."

"I don't want to hear it from _you_. You're just jealous, baldie."

"Hey! Bald is the new black!"

"That's what all you bald men say."

Ten minutes later, Luca rang the bell to Natsume's flat; Mochu let him in and offered him a beer. Appreciatively, Luca took it.

"Your mum called me just now," Luca said, looking at Natsume (who was still trying to fix his hair), before popping his beer open.

Natsume groaned and glanced back at his friend. "Again? Jesus, I'm sorry. You should probably change your number," both Mochu and Luca laughed, "I'm not kidding. I haven't seen her this excited since that wine shop opened around the corner from her."

"I think it's sweet. She's being really supportive." Luca kindly insisted, with a genuine smile.

"Well, if she crosses the line, let me know. Aoi's convinced that mum's trying to usurp me and become your new best friend."

Mochu snorted. He was on his second beer now. "I'd take Kaoru over you _any day_ , mate." He then quickly turned to Luca and without pause, continued with a smirk, "So Luca, I'm gonna be your numero uno wingman, right? What kind of man are we out lookin' for tonight?"

"I don't need to pick up anyone. I just want to check it out," it was Luca's first time too, "I'm so thankful you're all coming with me; I couldn't do it alone."

"Nonsense! This night is all about _you_. Okay—here's the deal: if anyone strikes your fancy, give me _this_ a signal," (Mochu merely winked ostentatiously), "and I'll help you—"

"That won't do. You'll just scare all the men away with your light-bulb head and your weird twitching eye." Natsume interrupted with a taunting grin.

Mochu glared at Natsume. "You're an ass, you know that, right? By the way, your hair still looks stupid."

* * *

I don't want to go!" Anna whined as she threw herself on Mikan's double bed. "You can't make me go." Her eyes were red, her face puffy, and suddenly a fresh, watery cry erupted from her lips as he buried her face in the pillow. "I _hate_ men! I wish they'd all just _die!_ "

"You don't hate all men, sweetie," Sumire insisted calmly, looking intently at her own reflection, as she continued to carefully apply her winged eyeliner, "Tom Hardy's a man and you wouldn't wish death on him."

Hiccuping, Anna looked up at her friend. "Only an hour ago you were saying that all men are parasites that burden women."

Having perfected her cat eyes, Sumire turned to look at her desolate friend and replied, with earnest frankness, "They _are_. They are parasitic. The day you wash their clothes and make dinner for them is the day it's over: after that, they'll expect you to clean and cook for them for _life_ whilst they sit on the sofa scratching their balls. Your mistake was that you cooked _and_ cleaned for him on the first date."

"B-Because I loved Takeshi-kun!" Anna wailed.

A hybrid sigh-groan erupted from Sumire's mouth. "Takeshi's a shithead. He's a big, ugly hairy baby that doesn't deserve you. In fact, most men are big, ugly hairy babies."

"Well, I hate big, ugly hairy babies and I wish they would all just jump into Mount Fuji and _die!"_

"Hear, hear," muttered Sumire, exasperation marring her pretty face as she smoothed down her green dress. She didn't know how much more of this she could handle.

Then, with a big bag of rice crackers, Hotaru entered Mikan's room just as Anna stuffed her face in the pillow again. She nonchalantly ate a rice-cracker as she raised an eyebrow at the pink mess that lay on her roommate's bed. Hotaru herself was in her tracksuits, wearing a loose jumper with all her hair pulled back into a small pony-tail.

"Anna, stop ruining Mikan's pillow; you're getting mascara everywhere. Stop crying. I don't even understand why you're so upset. Takeshit—"

" _Don't call him that!"_ Anna sobbed.

" _Takeshit_ ," Hotaru said, with more firm emphasis, "is an underachieving loser who plays video games all day. He's got no money, no career, no future and zero potential. He was just mooching off you, exploiting your kindness, your money, your success and your cooking skills. You should be celebrating that he's gone from your life. He's gross, weird and I hated the way he always spoke about his 'mummy dearest'. The best thing he ever did was dump you, because now you're no longer burdened with his creepiness. You're _free._ "

"B-But—"

"Didn't he also make you pay for his phone bills? _And_ his stupid game subscriptions? I swear to God, Anna, if you haven't cancelled all of that, I'm going to kill you."

"B-But Take-chan needs the money! He's in between jobs right now—"

"Bullshit! Anna, you don't work Mondays-to-Fridays noon-to-midnight at a prestigious Michelin star restaurant to pay for his lazy, leeching ass! You're not Tokyo's up-and-coming best chef for nothing! You're so talented and amazing. The quicker you realize that about yourself, the _better_."

Anna sniveled and looked down at the floor, averting her gaze from her two friends. Sumire and Hotaru glanced at each other. Did Hotaru _finally_ make Anna see sense—

"But," came Anna's small voice, "if I'm so amazing, why did he dump me?" And just like that, the tears returned.

It took a lot of control for Hotaru not to bang her head against the door. With poised restraint, she vehemently continued, "Anna, he dumped you as soon as you told him to get his act together. That alone should tell you what kind of person he is. He has no intention to _ever_ work in his life. He means to live off of other people's hard work. His mere existence is insulting to _all_ of us—all of us here work our asses off every day, whilst he sits around picking his nose at home, playing his idiotic games all day. There's nothing wrong with you—it's _all_ him. He's a scrawling woodlouse: ugly, an eyesore and absolutely insignificant. He will amount to absolutely nothing, and to even think that he once stood beside you is offensive to me. Not to mention, he dumped you _three_ weeks ago! It's time to move on. Come on," Hotaru pulled her friend up from Mikan's bed, "pull yourself together, stop crying, have a drink, and," she clutched the dress that lay on the armchair by the bookcase and handed it to Anna, "wear this dress that Mikan bought you."

Sniffling slightly, Anna nodded. She inspected her new dress again. It _was_ a nice dress.

"Oh, and honey," Sumire chimed, (she was now straightening her hair, looking at her reflection once again), "don't forget to change your Netflix password too."

Anna sighed. "I've been putting that off. It'll feel… I dunno, it'll just feel so _officially over_ once I change my Netflix password. That's, like, the last straw, you know?"

"That's great," Hotaru said with a slight grimace (did she really live in a day and age when a Netflix password determined the end of a relationship?!) as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, "Anna, give me your bank details. I'm cancelling all of Takeshit's bills."

With another sniff, Anna passed Hotaru her credit card that she retrieved from her purse. Immediately, Hotaru got to work on her phone.

"God, you're good at this," Sumire said, looking at Hotaru, "you know, if you weren't a doctor, you should totally be a breakup therapist."

Hotaru snorted, "I'd probably have better hours and better pay if I were one. I clearly chose the wrong profession."

The corners of Anna's lip upturned slightly.

"So, next time I got through a nasty breakup, you'll be here for me, right Hotaru?" Sumire joked with a mocking smirk.

"I might start charging." Three minutes later, she passed Anna's card back to her. "Done. He'll have to start paying for _Dragons, Elves and Swords_ _RPG_ all by himself now."

Anna couldn't help her sad little sigh as she looked at her credit card. She popped it back in her purse, and as she then pulled her new dress over her head, she asked, "Can't you just invent a new plague that will wipe-out men?"

"Specifically straight men," Sumire specified.

"No." Hotaru said. "But my friend Nonoko in the labs might be able to whip something up."

They all laughed.

"You sure you're not coming out tonight?" Sumire asked as she brushed her pin-straight hair carefully, looking at Hotaru. "It'll be fun, I promise. Narumi's promised that we'll have free drinks all night and the music will be 90s and early 00s RnB! And," she turned with a cattish smile on her face, "a gay club means no nasty straight men! Can you imagine—a night-out where we can actually all dance in _peace,_ where no assholes think they are entitled to grab your ass and come up behind you and push their boners up against you?"

Anna frowned, considering Sumire's words. "Wow, straight men really _are_ the worst."

Hotaru shook her head. "No thanks. I've had enough dick today."

Sumire chocked on her drink. Laughing incredulously, she spluttered, " _What?!"_

"Oh? Mikan didn't tell you?" They both shook their heads so Hotaru continued, "Earlier today, when I was helping out in the urology ward, an eighty-year-old man came in. Just for context, he looked like a leather bag, creases everywhere, liver spots covering every inch of him." Both Sumire and Anna tittered in amusement. "He proceeded to whip his wrinkly dick out," Sumire screamed in disgust while Anna laughed harder, "and told me that blood comes out of his dick every time he masturbates."

Sumire roared with laughter, slapping her hand incessantly against her own knee in sheer amusement. Tears of mirth collected in Anna's eyes, as she clutched her sides.

"That's _horrific!_ "

"Yup." Hotaru resumed in munching her rice-crackers. "So, gay club or not, I'm not leaving this house tonight. I'm going to stay in, finish all these crackers and rewatch _The Office_. I don't want to be within a five-metre radius of a dick tonight, young or decrepit."

With a cheeky chortle, Sumire couldn't help but ask, "So? What did it look like?"

"… It looked like a dead mole rat."

Sumire and Anna shrieked in both amusement and disgust.

"Mikan was eating a hotdog when I told her this. She nearly vomited."

The two laughed even harder.

"You're so cruel," Anna wheezed, wiping away her happy tears.

"Where's Mikan anyway?" Sumire asked. She turned to the door and called, "Mikan? Mikan! You're missing all the fun!"

"She's still on the phone trying to get a ticket for tomorrow." Hotaru explained as she sat down beside Anna on Mikan's bed. "Come, let me fix your eyes. You've washed away all of your mascara."

"Thanks, Hotaru." Anna gratefully held her friend's hand. "For everything."

"It's fine. Come on, pass me the palette."

Just as Hotaru finished fixing Anna's eye-makeup, Mikan entered her room, an annoyed expression creasing her face. She was already dressed up: her dress was tight, backless and white; her make-up was nude and smoky and her hair had volume for once. Her irritation subsided once she saw Anna in her new gold dress.

"Oh, Anna, you look beautiful! The dress looks _so good!_ "

"Thank you, Mikan!" Anna beamed. "Honestly, thank you so much for getting me this."

"Consider it payment. All those meals you've cooked for me—"

Hotaru raised an eyebrow, "Not you too. Okay, from this day forward, no-one is allowed to mooch off Anna's cooking."

"I'm not mooching! I _intend_ to pay her back in dresses," Mikan proclaimed, smiling sassily, "in this stagnant economy, dresses are the best form of currency, _trust_ me."

Changing the subject, Hotaru asked, "So? Did you manage to get a ticket?"

Immediately, her good-humoured grin dissipated and irritation returned. "No," she huffed as she fell heavily onto the armchair, "they put me on hold to confirm whether there had been any cancellations only to tell me, _twenty minutes later,_ that there are no tickets available."

"Bummer," Sumire shook her head, "well, at least you can have Sunday brunch with us tomorrow then."

"Yeah," Mikan dabbed some perfume on her neck, "I guess. I just really wanted to go. And _oh my God_ ," she pulled a face, "guess what song they used for the call waiting tone? I still can't decide if it was pure genius or just a decision made by a sadistic psychopath."

"Lady Gaga's _Telephone_?" Anna suggested.

"Madonna's _Hung Up."_ Mikan revealed, before she started to jam, " _Time goes by, so slowly, so slowly for those who wait…_."

"I'd say that's pretty sadistic." Sumire decided, wincing.

"What! Why? It's a great song." Anna countered.

By her expression, Hotaru seemed to agree with Sumire. "I would have hung up." Hotaru clarified, but then her eyes widened when she realized what she had just said. " _Hung up_ … oh shit, that's genius. Think how many customers it subconsciously deters. I wish I could use that on some of my patients."

Mikan snorted. "It was fun for the first few minutes." She nodded at Anna, acknowledging its 'great song' status, "But then, my brain started to unravel. Time really did slow down, and by the eleventh minute, I was _so, so_ tired of waiting." Mikan sighed melodramatically. "And to think, all that aural and mental torture was for nothing."

Sumire's phone tinged. "Forget about it Mikan; there'll be other talks. I can assure you of that." She looked at her phone. "Naru's said he'll meet us outside _Reo._ Shall I order the cab now? Are you two ready?"

Ten minutes later, Anna, Sumire and Mikan were putting their shoes on. Hotaru watched them fumble with the straps of their heels as she coolly ate her rice-crackers. "Text me when you're on your way home," Hotaru said to Mikan, "depending what time it is, I might still be up."

Mikan nodded at her flatmate.

"Have fun. Also, tell Naru I say hello." Hotaru bid as Sumire opened the door.

Before she closed the door shut behind her, Mikan smiled at her best friend, "Enjoy rewatching _The Office._ "

She grinned deviously back. "Oh, I will."

* * *

A/N: Hello! I hope you've enjoyed chapter one! I've already written out the whole story (I'll probably be slicing it up, into four/five parts) so expect an update very soon.

This will be a very light-hearted, fun story that shouldn't really be taken seriously. Think of it as a 'Buzzfeed Article'-level fanfiction, i.e., mindless fun that gets us through the day. Everything in the world is so fucking shit and terrible right now, but instead of wallowing, despairing and writing a story that reflects that, I decided to write a fun story filled with youthful silliness. I'm currently staying away from _Resistance_ , because honestly, that shit just depresses me now. So, I hope you enjoy this very short and (hopefully!) fun ride, and I hope it distracts you from the clutches of cruel reality :)


	2. Survivor

A/N: I don't own Alice Gakuen.

 **Survivor**

* * *

"Do you think DJ has a spotify playlist?" Koko shouted over the music, as he bopped approvingly, "I _need_ this playlist for my workout!"

"You _don't_ workout, Koko." Natsume pointed out, meaningfully looking at his twiggish arms.

"Well, I _would_ if I had this playlist!" Koko proclaimed. He even whooped, throwing his free hand up. "Hey, Mochu, hold my drink. I'm gonna go ask the DJ! Excuse me," clumsily, he weaved himself in and out of the crowd towards the podium.

Natsume called after him before he swore in resignation. "A thousand yen says we won't see him again," he muttered.

Luca laughed. "I can still see him," he faltered, squinting, "—wait… Nope. Gone. I've lost sight of him."

Mochu who had already downed Koko's drink turned to Luca and clapped him on the shoulder. "So? Anyone take your fancy?"

"It's too dark in here to tell." Luca said, glancing around.

"You can see people when the lights hit their face," Mochu pointed out, "see? And hey, I think the guy over there keeps looking over," he indicated his head to the left. "Brunette. What do you think?"

"I don't need to—"

"I know, I know. But you can make a friend!" Mochu insisted. "Just get talkin' to some people. It'd be better than just loitering by the bar with Mr. Feral Grouch over here—"

"Watch it," Natsume warned, glaring.

"—in fact," Mochu continued, " _I'm_ going to go make a friend. Come with me!"

Luca hesitated. He glanced at Natsume for counsel.

Natsume nodded encouragingly. "Come on, let's go—"

"Oh, no no no no. You're not coming with us," Mochu said, "if you linger behind us like the shadow of some vengeful demon, we're going to make no friends tonight. Hey," he held his hands up defensively, "it's not my fault you're an introverted anti-social."

He didn't want to say it, but Mochu was right. Natsume had always been like this, ever since childhood. Luca had always been shy and caringly sweet; Koko social and endlessly fun and Mochu outgoing and charmingly carefree. When Koko had announced the night-out, Natsume had wondered whether his friends would have a better time without him. He just had never really grasped the concept of 'clubbing'—the music, fine. The drinking? Wonderful. But the dancing? Natsume couldn't think of anything worse (perhaps, maybe death). Yet Natsume had put aside his reservations, after all, this was all for his best friend. He wanted Luca to have the best night; he wanted Luca to meet other LGBTQ people, especially after Luca had confided in Natsume last week, voicing his wish for more gay friends. He knew Luca would have more chance to fulfill this yearning, right here and now, with Mochu beside him, rather than himself.

Accepting his 'introverted anti-social' label, Natsume nodded. "I'll go find Koko," Natsume judiciously reasoned, "or at least attempt to locate his position."

Mochu smiled appreciatively, and Natsume returned his meaningful look with a nod. "Cool." Mochu clapped Natsume's back, "Reconvene at the bar, yeah?"

"Text me when you find him!" Luca called.

"Don't forget to smile and be nice," Natsume teased, smirking before disappearing into the electric crowd.

* * *

On the other side of that same electric crowd, Anna, Mikan, Sumire and Naru sat, tucked away in the corner booth, drinking brightly coloured cocktails, gossiping with acidic fervour. Anna had just finished dishing out all the details of her breakup to Narumi who, with raised eyebrows, looked deeply unimpressed.

"Well, I, for one, am absolutely _thrilled_ he's gone." Narumi decided as he slapped his hands together. "He had both the mental age and the _skin_ of a fifteen year old boy! So greasy! I remember I was _so_ reluctant to shake his hand!"

Narumi was Sumire's co-worker; together, they worked at the management company, _Hikari_ ; they both worked in the PR department. They complimented each other well; the two were competitive, fiery, outlandishly outspoken and absolute devilish delights to be around. Even aesthetically, they made a dream team: Narumi's perfectly styled peroxide blond contrasted strikingly beside Sumire's stylish midnight black. Sumire had introduced her university friends to her co-worker three years ago, and since then, they all loved to go out to drink, gossip and dance at least twice every month.

"You're mean," Anna grumbled, pouting slightly, "I'm glad Hotaru isn't here to encourage you. I _am_ upset, you know."

"Oh _God_ , please don't cry," Sumire begged, putting her drink down, "I'm too drunk to console you."

"I thought we came here to _forget_ about He Who Must Not Be Named?" Mikan meaningfully said, knocking her foot against Sumire's under the table.

"Talking it out is therapeutic," Naru sagely explained, "and besides, Anna won't be able to dance the night away if _this_ is hanging over her head. Better to suck the poison out while it's still fresh. Honey," he clasped Anna's hands, "do you know how many men have broken my heart? _Too many._ At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the doctors told me that there's a gaping _hole_ where my heart should be—"

"I think Hotaru would have flagged that up," Mikan teased.

"—But do you think this gaping hole stops me from _trying_? No!" Narumi passionately exclaimed, "Because I have _hope_. Hope that there's a perfect man out there for me, hope that he's waiting for me. I just have to go through some bumps in the road to get to my knight in shining armour. I have _hope!"_

Sumire barked with derisive laughter. "Don't listen to him, Anna. He's just messing with you."

"I'm not!" Narumi indignantly said. "I'm a hundred percent serious! I have faith that my prince will one day sweep me off my feet!"

"You're making yourself sound like a virginal Disney princess! But aren't you banging Reo, the owner of this club?" Mikan asked, "What would your brave knight say if he knew you were leading on Tokyo's most salacious businessman for free entry and drinks, hmm?"

"Um, he'd _obviously_ applaud my good taste and my superior shrewdness? If I can tame Reo, I can do _anything_."

" _Ohhh_ ," Sumire gasped, her face bright with juvenile excitement, "I get it! Reo is your knight!"

"Plot twist!" Mikan exclaimed loudly, magnifying her voice by cupping her hands around her mouth. The two cackled, high-fiving.

"You're both terrible," Narumi said, pressing his two hands in both their faces, squishing them, in an attempt to stifle their snorting chortling, "ignore these two, Anna. My _point_ is you shouldn't lose faith. Your perfect man is out there; trust me. It was _never_ Takeshi. He's just a learning experience. A mock test to prepare you for the real exam!"

"I know you're right." Anna acknowledged, albeit with reluctance. She downed her vodka coke.

"Good girl! Drink! Come on, it's time to move on," Narumi conceded, "we'll go out to some generic straight club next week and find you a man, yes? After all, the quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else. But tonight, you're _dancing!_ Here, have my drink too,"

Right on time, the song changed and Sumire cheered approvingly. She raised both of her hands up as she stood, "Holy shit, it's like God heard our conversation—Anna! This is _your_ song, this is for _you_ ," it was true; Destiny Child's _Survivor_ had just started, the ultimate early 00s breakup anthem, "get your ass up!"

* * *

Koko was not by the DJ booth, nor was he pissing himself in the toilet. Natsume moved through the dancing crowd, heading back in the direction of the bar (he hoped that Koko had the sense to return there) but with much difficulty. It was crowded, it was sweaty, it was _hot_. Despite his sober cautiousness, no step could be taken without human contact—the occasional shoulder; "Excuse me,"; the occasional brushing shoves; "Excuse me,"; and finally, the very rare but very powerful fist—

"Shit— _fuck!_ "

Immediately, Natsume's hands clutched his jaw, his fingers shielding his now bleeding lip. Someone, namely a short girl with very pink hair, had accidentally fisted the air at exactly the wrong time, exactly at the ' _or_ ' when Bey-Mich-Kelly sang 'surviv- _or_ '. Her fist had hit the bottom of his jaw and the sudden brute impact caused Natsume's bottom teeth to rip his upper lip. The pink-haired girl obliviously drifted away, swaying and bopping sloppily to the beat and Natsume wondered how such a small human being could cause so much pain in such a concentrated area. He tenderly touched his bleeding lip. As he looked in her direction, incredulity silencing him, he caught sight of a brunette, who, unlike her friend seemed totally aware of what had just transpired.

She shuffled her way over to him, worry and concern marring her face.

"Fuck, I saw that. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Shit, you're bleeding! Like, _really_ bleeding!" She stood close by him, tiptoeing on her heels as she peered closer to his face. Even in his flashy room with swirling rainbow lights, Natsume could see the deepness of her brown eyes. But then, without missing a beat, she grabbed his wrist. "Come with me. Hey, Sumire! Hey!" she turned to her friends and shouted, waving her free hand, "Keep an eye on Anna! She's drunk! I have to help this man. Anna just socked him. I'll be right back."

Shocked by the sudden turn of events, Natsume let him be dragged through the dancing crowd as his other hand cradled his throbbing, bloody jaw.

* * *

"Anna, you just hit that man!"

"Huh? What man?" She slurred, swaying.

"Oh, Jesus. Naru, I think we should sit back down and get some water. You shouldn't have got her those last two tequila shots!"

"It's not my fault she's a lightweight…"

"She's _tiny_ , what do you expect!"

Together, the Dream Team helped Anna through the crowd, to the bar. They sat her down on a pink bar stool and ordered three glasses of tap water. The bartender nodded, not without winking at Narumi first. They thanked him when he brought their waters over, handing the first one straight to Anna.

"Did you see the man Anna hit?" Sumire asked Narumi, her eyebrows waggling. "He was fine as _fuck._ "

"Wait, I hit a man?" Anna gaped, water slopping down her cheek slightly, her face pink as her hair, her blue eyes slightly glassy. "When?" She gasped, "Did I hit Takeshi?!"

"No, honey, no. Takeshi is not fine as fuck. Hush now. Drink more water." Narumi pushed his own glass of water to Anna. "And duh, of course I saw him. You forget that I can pinpoint a hottie from a mile away. Very, very, _very_ cute."

"You should go find him! Mikan's probably taken him to the back. I'll stay here with Anna. Go introduce yourself to him. He could be your prince!"

Narumi scoffed as he derisively snickered. "Honey, you still have so much to learn."

Sumire frowned, put out by Narumi's lack of enthusiasm, which by large was very unusual, considering Narumi's whole life revolved around good-looking men. "What do you mean?"

"He was clearly not gay."

"What!" She looked unconvinced. "No way. You didn't even speak to him. You only saw him for like ten seconds! Your gaydar can't be _that_ good!"

"Oh, but it is. Trust me. And believe me, that tall hunk's not gay."

"How can you tell?"

"Um, did you see his hair?" Narumi laughed as he swished his own perfect head. "His face and body were to _die_ for, but his hair? Hell nah." He made a snip-snip motion with his fingers. "He needs a haircut. No gay man would be caught with such monstrous hair, dead or alive, _even_ on Halloween."

Sumire slapped Narumi playfully on the shoulder. "You're so bad." She shook her head, but then she asked, "But if he's not gay, what's he doing here?"

"He could be someone's straight best friend. Like you. He could be the Sumire to some other Narumi. Or he could just have great taste in music."

"Touché." When she drank her water, her elbow accidentally nudged the man beside her. Without looking in his direction, Sumire apologised and continued chatting to Narumi, keeping a steady hand on their drunk little friend.

(The man beside Sumire was no other than Koko. He hardly took notice of her nudge, let alone her apology. Instead, he scratched his head as he muttered, "Where the fuck are my friends?")

* * *

A/N: Here's the second installment. The next will come soon. I hope I clarified some things in this chapter? For those who asked, in this story, Luca is gay, hence the coming out party. His friends are just being good friends and taking him and celebrating at a gay club :)


	3. Portrait Era

A/N: I don't own Alice Gakuen.

 **Portrait Era**

* * *

"Through here," Mikan instructed as she pulled back the decorative drapes in the corner of the club, only to reveal a small door. She opened it, revealing a narrow brightly lit staircase and let Natsume go through first. Once they were both through she closed the door behind her, muffling the music outside, though the heavy beats still leaked through, reverberating deeply against the walls.

"Are we allowed here?" Natsume inquired, as he climbed up the stairs. He glanced behind him to look at the girl. "What is this place?"

"It's just the backstage of the club." He had reached the top of the staircase, so she further instructed, "Left."

He obliged and she followed him. She noticed the faint hesitancy in his step.

"Don't worry." Mikan continued, "We'll be fine back here. I know the owner of this club. At least, my friend does. But I do know the security team quite well. We come here often enough. Take the door on your right—"

But before Natsume could touch the door handle, the door opened, revealing a tired-looking man dressed all in black. Upon seeing Natsume, he immediately perked up; the weary expression sharpened into an alert façade.

"What are you doing back here—"

"Hayate," the girl brightly called from behind him, waving, "hey! He's with me."

Immediately, his vigilant expression melted into a warm, welcoming smile. "Hey Mikan, you good?"

Mikan pushed past Natsume and gave Hayate a brief hug. "Good to see you."

"You too. Hey, is Hotaru around?" Hayate asked in a hopeful tone.

Mikan giggled. "Not tonight."

"Shame." He glanced back up at Natsume; unlike before, he regarded Natsume in a friendly manner, concern now present in his eyes. "What we got here? You alright, mate? That's a nasty cut you got there. Some meathead get you?"

"No, it was Anna," Mikan revealed sheepishly.

Hayate's eyes bulged in disbelief; then, he laughed, "Oh shit! Anna? No way! Dude, she's like five foot. What'd you do to her—insult her pink hair or summin'?"

"It was an accident." Natsume and Mikan explained at the same time.

"She was dancing a bit too violently," Mikan clarified with a grimace, "and smashed his jaw when she was jumping up and down with her fist up. She was too drunk to notice."

"Damn. Well, we got a first aid kit in there," He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, behind him, through the room he had just left, "feel free to use it. I have to go down, but nice meeting you, yeah?" Hayate clapped Natsume's shoulder. "Take care, man."

Natsume nodded in thanks.

"Thanks, Hayate." Mikan smiled, waving him off as he descended down the stairs. "I'll let you know when Hotaru's around."

"You do that," Hayate grinned, looking back at her, "and make sure she stays away from other men, you hear me? And make sure _he_ stays away from other short, rabid girls, including yourself."

"Very funny," Mikan sarcastically called after the departing Hayate before turning back to the bleeding man beside her, "sorry about that. Let's go find that first aid kit," she passed and quickly tottered into the room, and Natsume couldn't help his wandering eyes from lowering down to admire her shapely ass in that white dress, especially when she crouched down to rummage through the cupboard.

"What's your name?" her sudden question ripped Natsume from his not-so-innocent reverie.

Natsume cleared his throat and averted his eyes away. "Natsume."

"I'm Mikan. I'm really sorry about everything; I hope my friend hasn't ruined your night. I— _aha!_ " She had found the first aid kit. She pulled it out, holding it up like it was a prize, stood up, and turned around to face him as she popped the box open. "Here we go. Please, take a seat." She motioned towards the two plastic chairs before she turned the tap on to quickly but efficiently wash her hands with soap.

Natsume sat down as she placed the kit on the neighbouring small table. She took the chair beside him, gracefully falling into the seat, before she rather noisily scooted her chair towards him, the chair legs scraping the floors.

"Let me have a look," her brown eyes focused intently, unwaveringly on his lips. "… I think it looks worse than it actually is. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Not anymore," he cleared his throat again.

Natsume swallowed; it had been a while since a pretty girl was this close to his face. In fact, he wondered, when _was_ the last time… he mentally tried to calculate it, but he gave up sooner rather than later. Besides, his mind was preoccupied enough by the face in front of him—this was no time to dwell on past flames. He liked her beauty spot. Her own lips were very comely too, pouty and nude. It was a pity his were all bloodied up. Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced up to meet his eyes. He blinked, hoping his face didn't give away his thoughts.

She smiled at him. He meant to smile back, but he quickly remembered his mouth and jaw were covered in blood. She might mistake him for Pennywise—best not to smile yet, he reasoned.

Mikan rummaged in the first aid kit box; first, she found a pair of medical gloves and popped them on before she pulled out sterile cotton pads and the bottle of disinfectant. She dabbed the solution on four pads before she looked back at him.

"This might hurt." Her apologetic voice was as gentle as her touch; very carefully, she pressed the cotton against the rupture, before softly dabbing the general area. With the other pad, she cleaned up the blood that had spilled on his jaw.

Natsume did his best not to flinch. He also tried his best not to look directly at her face (but it was proving to be very, very difficult).

He thought it'd be best to say something (or, at least, attempt to speak despite the cotton pad pressed against his upper lip) rather than stay in observant silence. "Do you do this often?"

"Hmm?" she questioningly looked at him.

"It's just you seem like you know what you're doing. You even put the gloves on," he spoke rather monotonously, but Mikan saw the teasing in his eyes.

She laughed. "Honestly? I have no clue what I'm doing. My best friend's a doctor and I saw her tend my little cousin once. He ran head first into a glass door," poor, silly Youichi, she mused fondly, "and I remember her doing something like this. I think." She laughed again. "And what about you? Do you get injured often? You didn't even wince!"

"Not recently. But as a kid, I was in the infirmary all the time."

She continued to wipe off the blood, before, "There. You're all clean, blood-free. But I think you should keep pressure on the cut for fifteen minutes maximum." His fingers now held the cotton pad against his own lip, "Also, I can't imagine that going back out there would be good for it. Clubs always struck me as a bacterial breeding ground."

"Well, when you put it like that, I think you've put me off going out there for good. I guess I'll just have to stay here all night with you."

Mikan smiled, impressed. _Wow_ , she thought; if she didn't know any better, she'd say that this guy was utterly flirting with her. But surely he's gay? What else would he be doing at _Reo_ 'son a Saturday night? But then again, she supposed she, Anna and Sumire were all straight and they frequented the club a lot. But since when did straight men come to _Reo_ 's alone on a Saturday night? _He could be bi_ , her mind reasoned.

"That sounds like a rubbish way to spend your Saturday night," Mikan teased, "I'm awfully boring."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She admitted with a mock sigh. "I like painting; I love my slippers; on average, I drink about ten cups of tea a day and I can't think of anything better than watching television shows about moving to the countryside. Oh, and I also like to collect orange-scented things, like tangerine shampoo or clementine lip balms."

"Because of your name?"

"Yup!"

Natsume smirked. "You sound like a perfect Saturday night to me. A bit old-fashioned, I admit, but perfectly decent."

"Didn't you get the memo? I prefer the term 'old soul'," Mikan guffawed, mirth colouring her cheeks.

"Sorry gran, we don't send letters to each other anymore. Memos are a thing of the past, like you."

Mikan shoved his shoulder, delightfully amused.

"So, what do you do? Are you an antique's saleswoman or something?"

"Oh, antiques! Another hobby of mine," she joked, before she replied, "but alas, no. Sadly, I'm a software developer."

"Oh, shit." Natsume didn't expect that; he was impressed. "An old soul with a modern twist."

"Versatility is my specialty."

"So is rhyming, clearly."

"Naturally." Mikan rhymed before her straight-face fell and light laughter took over once again, dusting the conversation prettily. "And you? What do you do?"

"I'm a financial advisor."

Mikan pulled a face.

Natsume solemnly nodded in accordance. "And before you ask, it is as boring as it sounds."

"More boring than my orange-scented body lotion collection?"

"More or less. Though perhaps more conventional."

"But boring nonetheless." Mikan simplified.

"Unquestionably."

Even Natsume couldn't stop the corners of his lips upturning. He was relishing this easeful conversation and her amused grin that accompanied it. If it weren't for the occasional twinge, Natsume would have completely forgotten about his bust upper-lip.

"Joking aside—"

"I wasn't joking—"

Mikan shushed him, "—what does a financial advisor do? Do you make money by telling people what to do with their money?"

"Simply put, yes."

"Wow, that's genius. Why didn't I think of that? Hey," her eyes widened mischievously, "do you ever get tempted to advise a filthy rich geezer into giving all his money to you?"

"I think that's highly unethical. And most likely illegal."

"Like," she made a phone-shape with her left hand before putting it to her ear, "'Hey, Mr. Yamada. I reviewed your accounts today, and I advise that you transfer your two hundred billion into my account, prontissimo. See ya,'" She hung up her make-belief handphone.

"Poor Mr. Yamada—"

"Oh!" Mikan interrupted, her previous concern returned, "Your lip is bleeding again."

"What? Oh," suddenly, he tasted the metallic tang again, "shit." He hadn't realised but his hand had relaxed completely—hardly any pressure was put against his lip.

"Here," Mikan held another cotton pad, soaked in antiseptic.

"Thanks," he took it and held it firmly against his lip.

"I'm sorry." Mikan apologised again.

"It's not your fault."

"It partly is." Mikan admitted, "I bought her first drink, and I knew she shouldn't have had those last two drinks, but I didn't stop her."

Natsume smirked as best as he could. "You pushed her down the rabbit hole."

"I think I watched her fall down the rabbit hole. Her ex-boyfriend dug that hole." Mikan explained meaningfully, "That should explain the vigorous and violent _Survivor_ dancing."

"So, what you're saying is, your friend split up with her ex and as a result I have a split lip?"

Mikan grimaced. "Regrettably and poetically so. Again, I am really sorry." Natsume shrugged off her apology, but she continued, "If you do require any medical attention, as I said, my best friend is a doctor. She's not here tonight, but I'm sure she can look at you—"

"It's fine." Natsume insisted. "It's nothing."

Mikan nodded, but then, her eyes wavered to the poster hung up on the noticeboard. The noticeboard was placed right behind Natsume, so he turned around to see what had unexpectedly and rather suddenly captured her eye. He gawked; momentarily shocked to see his own father's name pinned up on the poster behind. It was a rather decorative flyer, filled with painted faces, advertising 'Ioran Hyuuga's Two Hour Lecture and Q&A on his 1980s 'Portrait Era', the event date tomorrow at the stuffy gallery Natsume had spent most of his childhood. He couldn't believe he didn't spot it when he first entered—especially as two of the portraits advertised in the poster were of his mother!

What a bizarre place to advertise his father's talk! Here, in the break room of a club? Strange, he mused.

He glanced at her. She was still looking intently at the poster.

"Are you a fan?" he asked, curious.

"Are you kidding me? Yes," she sighed longingly, "I love Hyuuga-san's work. _Especially_ his Portrait Era."

"Really? I always thought them to be quite dull."

Mikan gaped, affronted. "What! How are they dull? I mean, all the colours and the exquisite brushstrokes!"

"I don't know. People don't look like that," he pointed at his mother as an example, "people aren't blue."

Mikan couldn't help but laugh. "That's true. But art doesn't need to imitate life—it can represent and transcend it. There's so much to be said about Hyuuga-san's work. I mean, every portrait is so different—even when he's painting the same person. There's a certain uniqueness to each one, and I always felt as if he's trying to capture the moment with the different techniques and colour. Everyday our emotions and feelings change—so why shouldn't his portraits represent that visually, or at least attempt to? I can't stand realism; all the subjects are fixed in an eternal, sterile landscape. Any artist can paint a face realistically. But to evocatively paint the human complexity within the framework of ephemerality, relying solely on colour and brush technique? A _true_ artist." She concluded definitively, before she smiled somewhat bashfully.

"You weren't exaggerating. You are a big fan." Natsume kindly smiled at her.

It had been eye-opening to hear _this_ stranger speak of his father so passionately; other fans of his father's work that Natsume had met had all been old, stuffy academics or art-dealers with moustaches, never young and enthusiastically vibrant. He and his little sister had never really cared for art, much to his father's displeasure, and as a result, they always had attended his lengthy art shows and panels with an air of childish reluctance and vexation. He remembered hating art lessons at school too—his art teacher had been very excited to have Ioran Hyuuga's son in his class, but such excitement soon turned to a very evident disappointment once he saw that his pupil did not inherit his father's creative talent and ingenuity. For a long time, Natsume had brushed aside his father's talents, desperate to step away and detach himself from his Ioran's looming and weighty legacy, but perhaps it was time for Natsume to review his father's work as an adult, with a clear and objective eye, rid of any lingering envy.

"Are you going to his talk tomorrow?" he asked. "At the Matsumoto Gallery?"

To his surprise, Mikan frowned before she groaned irritably. "I wish," she bit out, the pining undertone softening her harsh delivery, "but it's completely sold out. I've been trying to get tickets all week but with no luck. Actually," she derisively laughed at herself, "before coming out here tonight, I was on the phone to the gallery for twenty minutes, hoping to nab a last-minute cancellation, but no luck there either."

"Well, if you'd like, I can get you in. You can be my plus one."

Mikan's head snapped in his direction, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "What! You have tickets?!"

"Not per se. But I can get us in."

Mikan struggled for words. "But… how can you—"

"You could say I'm like a VIP. I'll be able to get the two of us in with no problem. Front row seats. You can even meet him afterwards if you'd like. You can even join us all for lunch."

Mikan was silent for a moment, but then, she started to laugh incredulously. "Okay, now I know you're joking. Very funny—"

"I'm not."

"Liar! You're smirking!" She contradicted, laughing.

"That's just how I look. I'm not joking; I can get you in. If you're with me, you'll get in, I promise."

She continued mirthfully, "What? Are you, like, Ioran Hyuuga's financial advisor or something?"

Natsume chuckled, in a somewhat private matter, as if he was remembering something. "I mean, I definitely do help manage his account and I definitely did talk him out of buying that shack in the mountains, but I'm not his advisor. At least, I don't get paid for any advice I give. No; I'm his son."

Mikan's jaw slackened, her eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. "His son?"

"Yeah. I'm Natsume Hyuuga."

Mikan regarded this man before her with a new sense of critique. Ioran Hyuuga's son? But he looked nothing like the artist! Ioran Hyuuga, the man who, as far as she knew, always dressed in baggy slacks, loose and creased shirts, with the scruffy beard? That same artist related to _this_ man, well dressed, smart and sleek? Certainly, this man before her also had very tousled black hair, but that was the only point of resemblance.

As if he were reading her mind, Natsume said, "I don't look much like him. I take after my mum—" he pointed to the two portraits of his mother on the poster, "see? He painted her when they started dating in the 80s. It marks the inception of his Portrait Era."

Mikan moved towards the poster and scrutinized the two portraits Natsume had pointed at. She remembered these paintings well; she loved them both, marvelled at their difference despite the same subject. The woman was very beautiful, she had always thought that, and Mikan could see now a resemblance; Natsume possessed this woman's eyes, mouth and jaw.

He then moved to pull his wallet out of his jacket and fluidly produced a business card. He held it before her. Gingerly, she took it before inspecting it.

 **Persona Financial Solutions Co.**

 **Natsume Hyuuga  
** Financial Advisor

She looked up at him, aghast and pale. "Oh dear God. Natsume Hyuuga, you're not kidding, are you?"

"That's what I've been saying."

She clapped her hands to her mouth. Natsume had assumed she was about to launch into praise and flattery, so he was surprised when she started to apologise, "I'm so sorry! I must have sounded like an absolute idiot, talking about your father's work like that! Running off with my mouth like a total pretentious twat— _bloody framework of ephemerality_! I'm so sorry! I'm mortified."

"No, not at all," Natsume quickly insisted, "it didn't come across that way at all. In fact, the human complexity in the framework of ephemerality was my favourite bit."

"You're teasing me," Mikan fell to the chair and covered her face with her hands, trying to hide her blush.

"Only a little." He sat back down too. "Come with me tomorrow. He'd love to meet a fan like you."

She looked at him. She bit her lip uncertainly. "I… I mean, I would _love_ to go, but I don't want to take advantage of your kindness! Besides, my friend hit you! You're still bleeding. You shouldn't be doing me any favours."

"You came to help. This," he dabbed his lip pointedly, "doesn't matter. Come with me tomorrow. I'll introduce you, and you can join us for lunch. Think of it as my way of thanking you."

Mikan pressed her lip together. She didn't know whether to grab this chance that was laid out so deliciously before her, or decline politely. Her love of art got the better of her. "Okay," she agreed, "if it's okay, I would love to go tomorrow. But I'm saying no to the lunch. I don't want to intrude."

"You won't be—"

"Even so. I'd rather just go to the talk, if that's alright?"

Natsume nodded.

"I'll repay your generosity, I promise." Mikan vowed, thankful and purely stunned by the coincidence. She couldn't help but voice her absolute amazement, "Strange, isn't it? My friend hits the son of the artist I so desperately wanted to hear talk. Life is so surreal sometimes. Oh, by the way," she added as an afterthought, "you should really tell the people at the Matsumoto Gallery to change their waiting tone!"

With his eyebrows furrowed, Natsume nevertheless replied, "Duly noted." With an amused, crooked smile.

"Such a weird night," Mikan marvelled at the universe, "I bet you didn't expect your night to go like this, huh? Here, with a girl in the backrooms." She tittered.

Actually, all things considered, Natsume was pretty pleased by the turn of events; here, with a handsome girl, who was definitely his type—

"I could introduce you to my friend, if you'd like?" Mikan asked, with a suggestive grin. "Unless, of course, you're already seeing someone—"

"I'm not," Natsume clarified, and before he asked, "are you?"

"No," Mikan snorted in a self-deprecating manner, "I've been single for _ever_."

"Then have dinner with me."

Mikan looked at him, barked an apprehensive laugh, before she saw the sincere look in his patient eye. "Wait, you're serious?"

"You know, we're off to a bad start. You keep thinking that I'm lying when I'm being serious."

"So… you're asking me out? For dinner? Like a friendly one, right?"

"Well, I'll do my best to be friendly."

Mikan still needed clarification. "A lunch-date or a date-date?"

Natsume looked perplexed. Was there a difference? He didn't understand why she was so confused. Was it so hard for her to believe that he was asking her out? Was it his hair?

"A date where I take you out somewhere nice to eat. That kind of date." That _was_ what people did on dates, right? Or had he got that wrong all his life?

Mikan couldn't help it; she couldn't help but blurt out, "Are you gay?"

"No, I'm not," Natsume simply said, "no matter how much my mother prays for that, I'm not gay."

 _Single, hot and straight; straight, hot and straight; single, hot and straight—_ She cleared her throat, desperate to clear her rambling mind, "Do you mind me asking what are you doing at _Reo_ 's on a Saturday evening, alone?"

"I'm not alone. I'm here with some friends—oh, _fuck_." Natsume suddenly stood up. He had completely forgotten: he was here for Luca! How could he forget so easily—this was no time to ask a girl out on a date! This was _Luca_ 's night, his coming out party! Here, in this little room with the girl in the white dress, he had forgotten that they were in the backroom of a gay club! And here he was, being the straight little asshole he always was, asking a girl out, instead of hanging out with his best friend downstairs— _oh shit_ , he realised, _she could be gay too!_

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Mikan asked.

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot my place. Well, _our_ place, technically speaking. I just assumed you were straight, despite the fact that we are at _Reo_ 's. I'm sorry." And to think, Luca had _just_ explained to his friends how irritating it was that society always assumes an individual to be straight—he had gone and done exactly what his best friend had, rightfully, protested about.

"I'm actually straight." Mikan revealed, "We're here for our friend Naru and for the great music."

His type and straight! And single… since _forever_. Oh God, he couldn't fuck this up now.

"I'm here for my best friend's coming out party. I," he looked down at her with the intention of telling her he needed to leave, but he hesitated. She was _totally_ his type, down to that beauty spot on her neck. He couldn't let this chance slip him. "I should go back; I'm here to celebrate his coming out—"

She stood up. "Of course—"

"I was wondering whether you want to, uh, come down? With me? Join us?"

"Oh," she also stood up, considering her options. One glance at him was all it took to make up her mind. He _was_ cute. "Yeah sure," she replied with a smile, "I mean, I definitely owe you a drink, right?"

"Careful; you'll be watching me fall down the rabbit hole otherwise."

She laughed. "Let me find my friends first. I should let them know."

"Alright."

"Oh, here. I should give this back to you," she held out his business card.

"No, keep it. It's got my number on it." He grinned at her. "I'll see you by the bar."

* * *

"Sumire! Sumire, your phone's ringing," Narumi pointed out before he turned to the taxi driver and apologised, "sorry, hon, I know we're a bit rowdy."

The taxi driver acknowledged Narumi's apology silently. It was Saturday night, nothing new to see here.

"Ugh, hold her," Sumire pushed Anna, who sat between them in the backseats, towards Narumi before she fished her phone out of her purse. "Hello?"

" _Where are you guys?"_

"Didn't you read my texts? Anna's not feeling too good. We're heading back to Naru's now."

" _You're kidding."_

"Nope, we're in the taxi now. I'm sorry babe, we wanted to wait but Anna was practically drooling on the floor and you were nowhere to be found—"

Narumi picked the phone from Sumire and said, "Just get a taxi back to mine. You can stay over too."

"… _Well, I think I'm going to stay here for a bit longer—"_

Narumi gasped. "Oh my God! Are you with that hottie?"

Immediately, Sumire snatched back her phone, ignoring Narumi's vocal protests. "No way!"

"Put her on speaker, dammit!" Naru demanded, excited.

Sumire complied, and placed the phone on top of Anna's head so they could both listen to Mikan, _"You won't believe it! He's Ioran Hyuuga's son!"_

"Who?" Narumi asked, frowning.

"You know, that artist Mikan adores. The artists whose show she was dying to go to." Sumire explained offhandedly, before she spoke into the phone, "Is he gay?"

" _No, he's not—"_

"Hah! See, I told you so!" Narumi cackled.

"Is he single?" Sumire continued her interrogation.

" _Yes—"_

"Mikan, I hereby forbid you to come back to Naru's," Sumire declared. "You need to go back to his."

" _I don't think—"_

"Mikan, you've been single forever. A week ago, you were complaining that there were not hot guys around you. Well, God heard your complaints and He has rewarded you. If you don't do something about this, you will be croaking about this regretfully on your deathbed."

"Don't listen to her," Naru said, "just do what you want, okay? Other hot guys will come—"

"Um, no. No, they won't," Sumire stubbornly insisted.

"—so don't do anything you don't want to do, okay? I rescind Sumire's command: you're more than welcome to get a taxi to mine."

"… _I think I'm going to hang out with him for a bit. He's nice."_

Sumire sighed in relief. "Thank God."

" _He got me tickets for tomorrow! So count me out of brunch. Also, can you text Hotaru that I might be late? I've been texting her but she hasn't replied."_

"Sure thing. Text us when you're heading home, alright?"

"Enjoy!" Sumire sing-songed. "Call us tomorrow!"

"Be safe!"

* * *

A/N: Third installment! This story will move quickly and finish quickly :)

Hope you liked it!


	4. Proverbs

**A/N** : I don't own Alice Gakuen.

 **Proverbs**

* * *

Miraculously, Natsume found his friends much more quickly than he anticipated. They all enthusiastically called his name, beckoning him, before they all noticed his bleeding lip at exactly the same time. Immediately, their eyes widened and they gaped.

"Shit, what happened?" Mochu asked, concerned.

"Are you alright?" Luca peered closer, worried to see how bad the cut underneath the cotton pad was.

"Who did this?!" Koko demanded, clearly affronted on behalf of his friend.

"Some dancing girl," Natsume explained, "it's fine. It's no big deal. I don't think it's bleeding much anymore."

"We were worried!" Luca said. "You were gone for ages."

"I'm sorry. How did the friend-making go?"

Mochu swooped in excitably, "A roaring success. Luca was a total hit!"

Luca blushed, "Mochu—"

Natsume smiled, "I knew it. Meet anyone especially nice?"

Coyly, Luca nodded.

"This dude called Rui," Mochu kindly stepped in, seeing Luca's shyness, "was seriously beautiful. Like on Luca's level – a solid golden 10. And fyi, _he_ asked for Luca's number. We met some other nice guys too. In fact, we're going for dinner with them sometime next week."

"That's great," Natsume said, "with just this Rui or some others too?"

"A few people," Luca revealed, "we're planning to get hot pot."

Koko groaned appreciatively, "Good choice. I can't wait."

"Can you come too, Natsume?" Luca asked, the gentle lamb.

"Of course. Just let me know the date and time." He patted his best friend on the shoulder; they've had each other's backs since the early days of elementary school.

But then, Mochu the ass, added maliciously, "One of the guys is a hairdresser. I told him about your problem and he's offered to give you a much-needed haircut."

Natsume glared; _not this again_. "Leave my hair alone, Mochu."

"He's just jealous of your hair," Koko muttered in Natsume's ear, sniggering inconspicuously.

Natsume smugly leered in Mochu's direction. "Thank you, Koko. Something we agree on."

Before Mochu could retaliate, Luca quickly exclaimed, "Shall we all have one more drink and call it a night? It's quite late."

Pacified by the mention of alcohol, Mochu clapped his hands appreciatively. "Yes! Hey," he got the attention of the bartender, "four bottles of Asahi, please?"

"Five bottles," Natsume amended, pulling his wallet out, "I got this round." He passed his some notes to the bartender.

" _Five?_ " Mochu double-checked, counting the opened bottles on the counter before taking one for himself. "I hate to say this, but we're not so young anymore."

"I'll say," Koko snorted, "one pint gives me a hangover these days," He nonetheless took the bottle, raising it slightly in thanks at Natsume.

Natsume handed a bottle to Luca, who thanked him. He picked up his own bottle, leaving the last bottle on the counter. "It's not for me. It's for the girl I just met. She'll be here soon."

"What girl?" Koko asked, confused.

"She saw me get hit and helped out."

"That's nice of her," Luca smiled.

His friends did not seem to realise the significance of this exchange (and why would they?)– they were all just nonchalantly finishing off their drinks. Natsume decided to drop the bomb, "She's my type. I want to take her out tonight."

Immediately, Koko spluttered, choking slightly on his beer, " _What?_ "

"Natsume, you fuckin' idiot," Mochu laughed, slapping him jovially on the back, "you haven't forgotten we're at _Reo_ 's, have you?"

He had, momentarily, earlier. But rather than dawdle in speech, he thought it'd be best to cut straight to the chase, "She's not gay; I asked her. She's here with some friends. One of her friends is the one who hit me." He then divulged, "I'm seeing her tomorrow. She's dad's fan and she wants to come to his talk with me."

Luca gaped, "You mean, your dad's talk that you've been trying to avoid like the plague?"

"That very one, yes."

Koko started to laugh. "That sounds like a first date from hell: dead boring."

Meanwhile, all mirth had disappeared from Mochu's face; now, only incredulous disbelief. He did not care for the location of the date, rather, he only cared for the main subject itself: "What the fuck, man?! How is it you scored yourself a date with a girl _here_ of all places—"

Suddenly, Natsume felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned back to find Mikan smiling up at him. Immediately and very conspicuously, all of his friends stopped speaking and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of her too, and when Mochu finally saw the brunette, he clutched Koko and groaned under his breath, "For fuck's sake, of _course_ she has to be cute—"

"These are my friends. This is Luca, Koko and Mochu," Natsume indicated pointing at each one respectively.

"Hi," Mikan brightly smiled at them, "nice to meet you all. I'm Mikan."

"This is for you," Natsume said, handing her the last remaining bottle.

"Oh! I thought I was going to buy you a drink. Thanks," She took it anyway and took a sip.

"Next time," he assured her and she smiled at the insinuation.

"So, Mikan," Koko stepped forward, grinning widely, draping his arm on the countertop, "how's your night been so far?"

"Good," she answered looking up at him, "how about you?"

"Great! I mean, I spent a good twenty minutes completely lost, but I found my way back eventually."

"Glad I'm not the only one." Mikan kindly laughed in response.

"How old are you?" Mochu abruptly asked, still looking slightly sour that Natsume had managed to find this beauty at _Reo_ 's.

Luca nudged Mochu ostentatiously. "Didn't anyone teach you that you shouldn't ask that?" He reprimanded.

"I'm twenty-five," she revealed, "don't worry; I've still got another ten years until that question gets uncomfortable."

Luca kindly supplied, "We're all twenty-six, if Natsume hasn't already told you. So no matter how old you are, you'll always be younger than us."

"Still, in ten years time, I'm sure I'll be lying through my teeth when people ask me that. Hey," she suddenly peered at his blue eyes, "has anyone ever told you that you look like Prince Charming?"

"Countless times," Natsume answered in lieu of his best friend, who was too humble to admit such a thing, "as you can imagine, high school with this guy was an absolute joy."

"Are you Natsume's best friend?" Mikan asked, and when both Luca and Natsume nodded, she smiled even brighter and pulled Luca in for a sweet, sugary hug (her perfume, Luca thought, smelt very nice). "Congratulations! The world awaits you."

"Thank you," Luca beamed at her, "that's wonderful to hear."

Mikan's eyebrows rose playfully, before she meaningfully said, "If Harry Potter taught us anything…"

"It's that no one should live in a closet!" Luca finished her statement; they both laughed then high-fived.

"You know your proverbs," Mikan joked, "the mark of a true gentleman."

In response, Ruka bowed ever so slightly, tipping his head.

Mikan then turned to smile at Natsume. She was happy to see him look happy at that moment. She was also glad that she got along with his friends so far; they all seemed perfectly lovely. Then, rather coyly she bit her lip. "So, um," Mikan edged closer to Natsume, and Mochu couldn't help but come closer too, intrigued but above all nosy, "my friends left. Anna was too drunk."

"Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine. I just, um, thought I should tell you."

Mochu, who had heard it all and saw the way this beautiful girl was meaningfully looking at Natsume, sighed. He might as well help a friend out, "Hey, Natsume," he called, "Koko and I have an early start tomorrow. We're calling it a night."

Koko, understanding Mochu's intentions, saluted Natsume with his now empty beer bottle. "Cheers for the drink, mate."

Luca took his cue too, "Me too. I have to look over Piyo's files tomorrow too, before his surgery on Monday."

They all said goodbye, conveying their hopes (rather suggestively) that they would see Mikan again soon, before leaving their friend at the bar, each clapping him on the shoulder as they passed him.

"That was gracious of you, Mochu," Luca said, as they finally exited the club; the cool silence and air of the streets soothed them.

Mochu grumbled, "I don't know why I'm so nice to that lucky asshole. Seriously, fuck that guy for getting a girl, tonight of all nights too! Do you suppose he was a monk in his past life? Or is it just that selfish people always get what they want? Hey, taxi!" He stuck his arm out and ran towards the edge of the pavement.

"Jealousy isn't cute, Mochu." Luca warned jokingly.

" _She_ was cute though," Koko sighed, a slight longing to his voice before he piped up, "but hey! She might have some cute friends! Maybe someone smart, beautiful and fearless for me," (at that exact moment, a few miles away, in the comforts of Narumi's flat, Sumire Shouda sneezed loudly). Koko then pulled Luca towards the taxi Mochu had successfully managed to hail.

They all clambered in; Mochu disrupted the flow of the conversation by asking off-handedly, "You guys wanna crash at mine?"

"Sure."

Mochu gave the taxi driver his address before turning back to his friends to resume the conversation, "That's true. She was pretty cool and birds of a feather flock together, right?"

"A proverb," Luca pointed out, "or as she said, the mark of a true gentleman."

Mochu grinned. That reminded him how nice she had been to Luca about coming out; there will be another time and place to bitch about Natsume's good looks and good fortune, he decided, and turned to focus on the blonde instead.

"You know, regardless, we were successful in our mission anyhow," Mochu pointedly nudged Luca in the ribs, "seven numbers for you tonight! Can we go over each one? I want to make a case file on them…"

* * *

"Do you want to head out too?" Natsume asked Mikan, leaning down as he spoke into her ear. Unlike upstairs in the back room, here, the music was too loud to hold a decent conversation. "We can go someplace else."

Mikan nodded. "Let's go," She gave her empty bottle to the bartender to throw away before she led the way through the crowd, weaving skilfully towards the exit. Now and again, she would glance back at him, and when doing so for the fourth time, she giggled, "I'm just making sure you're safe. I would hate to see you punched for the second time tonight."

They passed the entrance, and on the way out, they saw Hayate by the doors. Mikan bid him goodnight, tapping him affectionately on his shoulder. Hayate waved at the two, and called after Mikan, reminding her to bring Hotaru next time.

"I promise!" She waved back.

As they walked away, Natsume asked her, "Who is Hotaru?"

"My best friend,"

"The doctor?"

"Yes," Mikan nodded, "and my flatmate. Hayate has this huge crush on her."

"I gathered."

"So," she smiled at him, "where shall we go?"

Natsume wracked his brains. It was late—no nice restaurants would be open now.

Noticing his contemplative pause, Mikan took the initiative, and boldly said, "I would invite you back to mine… but I don't think my flatmate would be too happy. For the sake of her sanity, she doesn't want to be around men right now, and she's rather religiously rewatching _The Office_. I don't think she would appreciate any interruptions."

Mikan had handed him the baton, and Natsume took a deep breath before he took the plunge. "You can come back to mine? No flatmates to bother us." Mikan smiled; she was glad he took the hint. "And I think I have some pizza in the freezer."

"A late dinner at yours sounds great."

* * *

 **A/N** : Sorry this chapter is shorter than the others. It was originally part of a larger chapter but it was just too big so I sliced it up. The next chapter will be up very soon :)

This story is supposed to be a fun, light read (I would even go as far as to say it's a parody/crack-fic). Like I wrote it whilst listening to 'I Want You Back' by Jackson 5 on repeat non-stop.


	5. Pretty Woman

**A/N** : I don't own Alice Gakuen.

 **Pretty Woman**

* * *

Natsume rummaged around in his freezer, trying to find a frozen pizza. He muttered a, "No, no, no," whenever he came across something that wasn't pizza. Mikan was sat on his sofa in his open plan reception room; she crossed her legs as she examined Natsume's flat. It was nice, modern and unadorned.

"Is margherita okay?" Natsume finally asked from the kitchen, waving the frozen pizza.

Mikan nodded, "That's great. Thank you."

As Natsume ripped the wrappings off on the kitchen counter that faced the sofa, Mikan stood up, walked over and leaned against the very same kitchen counter on the opposing side. He looked up and smirked at her and she did her best not to blush so obviously.

"Your lip still looks sore," she commented.

"It doesn't hurt," he assured her before he popped the pizza into the oven. He then leaned against the counter too, admiring her. "So, where are you from? You have a Kansai accent."

"Kyoto." Mikan said. "And you? Tokyo?" She guessed correctly. "You sound like a Tokyo boy."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"It's an okay thing." She teased.

"I haven't been to Kyoto in a while. I used to go a lot with my family when I was younger."

"Well, there's so much to see, do and eat there! It's wonderful, it's home. I think I want to move back in a few years time. Tokyo's nice, but it's too crowded. My jii-chan refuses to come visit me here."

"So, you came to Tokyo for work?"

"Well, I did my undergraduate in Tokyo. I just haven't moved since. And you?"

"I've been here my whole life."

The small-talk prattle lasted until the oven beeped—in that time, they spoke about their jobs in more detail—and Natsume pulled the pizza out from the oven.

"Smells yummy. Here," she walked over to the over side to join him, "let me help."

"Plates are in that cupboard," Natsume pointed before he started to slice the pizza.

"Here you go," she placed two plates beside him.

"Thanks." Wasting no time, he placed the slices on the plates before he looked up at her. "You wanna watch something?"

"Sure." She smiled contently.

Together, they made their way to his sofa, holding their plates, and fell comfortably onto it. Natsume fished the remote from under a pillow and turned the television on before switching the channel to a mindless variety talk show.

"You know," Mikan said, as she swallowed, "you don't really strike me as the television dinner kinda guy."

Natsume, who had finished wolfing down his first slice, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he asked, "Why's that?"

"This flat's just so clean! You should see my living room—I have a mini fridge _next_ to my side of the sofa. Totally ruins the décor, and I've nearly died tripping on the wires, but nothing can take its place. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Depends on the question."

She smiled. "Why are your walls so bare? You know, I may not be an interior design expert—"

"Definitely not, with your decision to put a mini fridge by the sofa."

She nudged him, reprimanding him for his cheek, before she continued, "I'm just saying, a painting would look _really_ nice on that wall. It's the perfect wall space!"

He regarded the white wall she pointed at. Granted, she was right; it was close to the window too (but not too close) so a painting would look great in the natural light. He turned back to face her.

"You mean, why don't I have my dad's painting there on the wall?"

She shrugged and truthfully said, "Doesn't need to be your dad's. Could be any old painting or picture."

"I don't know if you've picked up on it, but I'm not the world's biggest art collector. I never really connected with art. I think being the son of an artist had something to do with it."

Mikan nestled herself into his couch and brought her knees up, all while intently looking at him, absent-mindedly eating her pizza. She didn't say anything, and Natsume took that as a cue to continue.

"When I was a kid, I really struggled with the fact that, unlike my dad, I was no good at art. It frustrated me that my dad's talent came so easily to him. It became this weird complex for me, and as I grew up, I just shunned it from my life. I focused on sciences and abandoned the arts. My sister's the same."

"That must have been hard for the two of you," Mikan sympathised, "and I can see why you would want to distance yourself from all that. But you know, I don't know if anyone's told you, but it's okay to dislike art. It doesn't make you a bad person. God," she shuddered, as if she had just remembered something traumatic, "you should hear my flatmate talk about art—last year, we went to London during Golden Week, and when we went—well, I kinda dragged her—to the Tate Modern Gallery, I swear to God, she nearly burned that place down."

"I also share that fantasy." Natsume admitted, and Mikan laughed. He saw that she had also finished her pizza, and set their plates aside on the coffee table. "When I went to the Tate a few years ago with my family, the exhibition running showcased the carcass of a dead cow."

Stifling her laughter, Mikan added, "Hotaru wrote a scathing review on Yelp. The Gallery actually contacted her through it and asked she take it down, in exchange for free Tate merchandise."

"I'm guessing she said no."

"She took it a step further and exposed them on twitter," Mikan sobbed with laughter, holding her stomach.

"Tate-Gate," was Natsume's wisecrack response.

"Yes! Exactly!"

After Mikan stopped laughing, with a smile on her face, she exhaled before asking, "What was my point again? Oh yeah," remembering, she changed the subject back to Natsume and sincerely said, "Well, I think it's admirable you're carving your own path, Mr. Financial Advisor, without depending on your father's name. You're rejecting all the nepotistic urges that are so prevalent in our society."

He contradicted her, "Oh trust me, I definitely do exploit his name sometimes. For upgrades, for free meals," he then glanced up at her, "and it looks like it worked on you too."

She faced her body towards him on the couch and held his gaze. Her previous exuberance had faded into an earnest flush that spread across her cheeks. In a steady voice, she softly disclosed, "You did that all on your own."

She looked wonderful, looking up at him with those expectant eyes and a bit of tomato sauce on the corner of her lips. And so, Natsume seized the moment—he shifted towards her, closer to her before he tentatively reached out to cradle her face softly with his hand. She's didn't flinch, so his hand rested firmly against her. His thumb wiped the corner of her mouth clean, and she gazed at him with bated breath. His eyes were burning coal, so intense that she had to glance away flittingly. The television murmured away as he lowered his head, with the intention to kiss her.

But then, "Hey," Mikan now put her hand gently against his cheek, and her fingers softly tracing his bottom lip, "your lip…"

"It's okay," he murmured against her fingers.

"Your top lip is bruised. It'll hurt you," She brushed the outline of his lip tenderly with her barely-there fingertips, pure gossamer touches, "and it might start bleeding again. And I'm sorry to say this, but a metallic, bloody aftertaste isn't my idea of a good kiss."

"It'll be an unforgettable one," Natsume cajoled, half-joking.

"Potentially in a bad way." Mikan giggled. "Here," she then held his head still with her two hands; her fingers splayed across his cheeks, she leaned forward and very softly, she kissed only his bottom lip. "How's that?"

"I hardly felt it," Natsume protested, "do it again—"

"Such a spoilt Tokyo brat," Mikan lightly teased, stroking his cheek, before she leaned towards him and kissed him again.

His hands lowered down to her waist, and he pulled her towards him, sliding her on his lap. The kisses were all soft, the touches too, and soon, Natsume found himself stroking her long brown hair, wordlessly encouraging her to continue and take the lead.

"You know," Natsume murmured, as she kissed his jaw, "you could stay here tonight."

She stopped and pulled away from him. She looked at him, considering his words. He said it lightly, like a casual afterthought, but his question hung statically in the air, unable to move until Mikan said something. He didn't coax her; he just waited for her to make a decision.

Finally, "I guess it _is_ late…" Mikan said.

Natsume was very pleased with her response, but he tried to hide the extent of such feelings. Nonetheless, it spilled out on his face; he grinned before he helpfully pointed out, "The talk starts in less than eight hours. You'll be able to get more hours of sleep if you stay here. Not to mention, I live ten minutes away from the Gallery, so it'd be impractical if you left this area of town. You'd be wasting time traveling, to and fro, if you leave now."

She liked the way he spoke with logic to get what he wanted, rather than flowery language or silly flattery.

"You make excellent points."

"I know."

"But,"

"What?"

"But I don't have clothes for tomorrow." She indicated at her white, tight backless dress, "I can't go to Matsumoto Gallery wearing this tomorrow."

Natsume frowned. "Why not? It looks nice."

"It's clearly an evening dress," Mikan explained, "if I rock up in this tomorrow, all the men in their suits and all the women in their pantsuits are going to know I did not get home last night. They'd be pointing at me behind my back and—" Natsume wickedly smile at her explanation, but before he could say what was so deliciously and deviously turning in his mind, Mikan cautioned, "Don't. I know what you're thinking and—" but then she joined his laughter, her head falling against his chest.

He held her there and resumed stroking her hair. "My sister always leaves her stuff here. You can borrow something of hers—you'll fit into her clothes just fine."

"Alright then," she agreed, and then, to Natsume's pleasure, she resumed kissing him; this time, she concentrated on his neck.

The minutes melted away as Natsume continued to caress her as Mikan continued to kiss him. Then—

"It's getting really late," Mikan said.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Natsume asked her.

"Yes please." She climbed off him.

He stood up and helped her up. "This way," he directed her towards the guest bathroom. On the way, he picked up a clean towel and rummaged for something in his drawer. At last, he produced a pyjama set. "Here," he passed both the towel and pyjamas to her, "my mother got me that," the pyjamas, "I've never worn it. You can use it. It might be a bit big for you."

She held up the pyjama top alone and guffawed, "A bit? I will drown in this." Then, her tone changed, "Hey, this is actually really nice!" She also unfolded the bottoms, whistling in approval, "Your mum's so cute, still buying you pyjamas at your age!"

"She still thinks I'm eight. I've told her countless of times that I haven't worn pyjamas in over a decade but she doesn't listen."

"I don't know," Mikan smirked mockingly, "I think you'd look dashing in plaid, especially with these brown buttons."

Natsume rolled his eyes as Mikan, and pushed Mikan in the direction of the bathroom. She resisted only slightly with a laugh.

"There are spare toothbrushes in the cupboard." Natsume helpfully told her.

She smiled before she closed the door, "Thank you! I won't be long."

* * *

Natsume showered in his own ensuite bathroom. The hot water both soothed and stung his upper lip. Thoughts were running through his mind, gushing like the water. He liked her; he wondered what she thought of him. She had made such an impression on him—did he do the same for her? He hoped so. His mind kept replaying their night before it started to envisage what was still to come between them. He had a good feeling that more was to come even after tonight: he had the promise of tomorrow, and if all went well, he might get to see her next week. He thought about places he could take her to eat for a date. Maybe even Kyoto? That'd be sweet. Or would it be too sweet, too avaricious? Perhaps just another easy, laid-back night here in his flat would be best? But would that be too lacklustre?

Ten minutes later he opened the door to the bedroom, and all his contemplations faded away when he saw her nestled comfortably in his bed, tucked under his blanket. He smiled and she smiled back. He turned the lights off before he made his way to the bed.

As he climbed in, she said, "I set an alarm for tomorrow morning."

"Joy."

She sniggered. "Are you this grumpy in the morning too?"

"Worse." Came his equally deadpan answer.

"Oh God help me," she laughed, and the sheets rustled beneath them as she did so.

Once she stopped, a nightly quiet fell upon them: the soft hum of comfortable darkness, deep breaths, secrets floating in the air, the whispery shadow of the soul.

He slid his body closer to hers, careful not to make any bodily contact, but his hands rather tentatively searched under the covers for her waist—he followed the source of heat, but when his fingertips brushed against the cotton pyjamas, he hesitated.

He reasoned: it was late. They were getting up in a few hours time. They've had such a good evening so far. He didn't even want to risk the possibility of ruining it by overstepping—

Suddenly, but very softly, Mikan's hand found Natsume's, and she pulled his hand across her waist, before holding then pressing his hand against her middle. Following her lead, he moved towards her as he pulled her closer to him, until her back was pressed against his torso. They nestled comfortably against each other, the sheets rustling, as if they had done so a million times before, with a sense of familiarity, a sense of homecoming.

She untangled her fingers from his, and pulled one of his hands to her lips. She kissed his knuckles. "You know," she softly murmured against his fingers—Natsume just about caught the wisps—"I don't want to have sex with you if I can't kiss you properly… if you can't kiss me back. That just doesn't seem right."

"We don't need to," Natsume said, tucking her head underneath his chin, "I understand."

The promise that they one day would lingered tantalizingly in the air.

Mikan smiled, "It's like _Pretty Woman_ inverted—oh, wait. Maybe you don't get that reference."

"I do."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Pretty Woman doesn't want to be kissed during sex, but you do, so you've inverted the _Pretty Woman_ formula."

"Oh, shit!" Mikan giggled and then held onto his forearms tightly. Where had this man been all her adult life? "You're good!"

Natsume snorted, then explained, "I have a younger sister. You know, when we were younger, Luca used to come over every Friday to ours and he always got to pick between my choice of film and Aoi's. He always picked Aoi's. I've seen them _all_."

" _Notting Hill_ and _Runaway Bride_?"

"Of course. The Julia Roberts Trinity."

Mikan giggled uncontrollably. "I love that. So, you won't mind it when I come over to yours next weekend and bring _When Harry Met Sally_?"

"As long as my lip is healed by then, you won't hear me complaining."

Mikan didn't miss his implication. She elbowed him in the torso and shook her head in a mock disapproval. "I might not sleepover next week," she teased, "so your healed lip will do you no favours."

"That would be a shame." She then softly felt Natsume's cheek brush against her ear, then, "Can I see you next weekend?" Gone was the previous snarky cheek; here, his voice was only honest.

So, she replied with an honest voice too. "I would love that."

He held her close and she let him. Cocooned by blankets, enveloped by the night.

"Good night."

"Sweet dreams."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thanks for the reviews! Next chapter will come soon :)


	6. Mamma Mia

A/N: I don't own Alice Gakuen.

 **Mamma Mia**

* * *

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep—_

"Oh, God," Natsume gruffly groaned in protest, a frown forming between his eyebrows, creasing.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep—_

Mikan finally found her phone and turned her alarm off. Through bleary eyes, she examined her phone and saw that she had a few messages from Hotaru; nothing urgent, Hotaru was just checking to see if Mikan was okay. She texted back ( _Everything is fine, I'm okay. Just had a grown-up sleepover. I'll be back in the late afternoon after the talk!_ ) before she slowly sat up in bed. Again, Natsume groaned in protest, and she couldn't help but indulgently smile as she saw his hand fumble around, in search for her.

She gave his hand a warm squeeze before she got out of bed. He protested more coherently.

"Don't," Natsume grumpily moaned, lifting his head ever so slightly, "don't do that. Come back,"

"We have to leave in thirty minutes or else we'll be late!" Mikan countered; she nearly tripped on his pyjamas that were far too big for her, so she carefully maneuvered herself, dragging and sliding her feet against the floor. "I'm going to boil the kettle. Don't go back to sleep!"

Thirty seconds later, Natsume had fallen back asleep. Two minutes later, Mikan returned with hot tea, for both him and herself, and put his on his bedside table as she sipped hers.

"Wake up," she sing-songed; she then sat down on the bed, and placed her hand on his back.

Natsume grumbled. "Let's just blow this talk," he finally said, as he turned around to look up at her. He lazily smiled at her in greeting, "they'll be more talks, I swear. I'll take you to them instead. Just come back to bed," he tapped the empty space beside him, beckoning her to return.

She put her tea down the bedside table and then looked at him. "No way! I am not missing this opportunity because of your laziness—oompfh!"

His strong arms hugged her midriff, and he pulled her down into the bed. As she squealed and giggled in resistance, Natsume smirked, "See? Much better."

"We're going—"

"It's Sunday. People shouldn't be up this early on a Sunday morning. And I didn't tell you this last night because I really wanted you to say yes, but my dad's talks are really, _really_ dull." Like a cat, he pressed his cheek against Mikan and closed his eyes again.

"You're mean," she said, her tone light and playful.

"I'm tired," he reprimanded.

She wriggled around in his arms and successfully managed to turn; now, the front of her body was pressed against his, with her on top.

It was time to use her womanly wiles.

"Please?" she all but begged, throwing in a slow blink, edging her face closer to his.

Despite his sleep-muddled haze, Natsume could appreciate her pouty lips and doe eyes. She kept a steady gaze. His eyes wandered around her face. He realized he didn't want to let her down; he couldn't. Without even realizing he had just been played, Natsume conceded, "I said that I'd take you; let's go,"

Mikan grinned and slid off him and he finally got out of bed with a yawn. She stood up too, before saying, "So, you know you said I could borrow your sister's clothes? Where are they?"

Natsume opened the closet and rummaged around a bit before he pulled out some jeans, skirts, and tops. "Jesus, Aoi…" he muttered as he found even more of her stuff in the dusty corners of his closest.

"Wow, you weren't kidding! Oooh," she picked up a brown, ribbed and long-sleeved bardot top, "this is _nice_ …"

"Go ahead," Natsume said, before he pulled out some clothes for himself. On the subject of Aoi, he probably should text her soon and mention that he's coming today, he thought. She'd be pleased, no doubt, and his mother even more so. His sweet father would just nonchalantly wave, he was sure.

Having picked an outfit, Mikan informed Natsume that she was going to go get changed and ready in the guest bathroom. Once she left his room, Natsume too started to change; once dressed, he located his phone. He ignored all the obnoxious messages from Koko and Mochu that similarly demanded to know what had happened with Mikan. He sent a message to Luca, expressing his wishes that Luca had a good time last night. Then, he wrote to Aoi, _I'm coming today. I'm bringing a guest. See you soon._

She responded almost immediately, _OMG_ , _thank GOD! I'm at the reception now with mum. Please come soon, the small talk is killing me!_

Then, another message from her, _Not hungover then, huh?_

Then another, _Wait, who's the guest? Lu-chan?_

He texted back, _Stop looking at your phone and go small-talk._

 _Wow. You clearly don't care that your little sister is deathly allergic to small-talk, and is currently planning her own funeral._

 _I'll see you soon. Hopefully you won't be dead by then. Might I suggest white lilies for your funeral?_

 _60% chance of imminent death. Also, I hate lilies. Hurry up loser._

Mikan returned, changed, holding her white dress in her hands. "Do you have a plastic bag I can have? I didn't bring a bag."

Natsume thought she looked very nice in black jeans and that autumnal brown top. "You can just leave it here," Natsume suggested, holding out his hand to take her dress.

She didn't pass it to him immediately. "No, don't worry, I can just carry it—"

"It'll be a hassle for you to carry it around all morning. It'll be safe here, I promise."

She conceded and handed him her dress. He folded it and tucked it away with his clothes.

"I saw that glint in your eye," Mikan tinkered tauntingly, her own eyes twinkling.

"What glint?" He asked ever so innocently, with a contradictory wolfish smile that purged any indication of innocence.

"A glint that said, 'if you want to see this dress again, you have to come back here'."

"Nonsense; you mistake me, I'm a gentleman."

"Sure thing, Romeo."

* * *

Mikan and Natsume arrived at the Matsumoto Gallery fifteen minutes before the start of Ioran Hyuuga's talk. They walked up the stone steps that lead to the lavish white doors of the Gallery, and once they reached the door, Natsume held it open. Mikan thanked him, entered, and then smiled at the receptionist. The friendly receptionist smiled back, but when he caught sight of Natsume, he stood up and positively _beamed_.

"Mr. Hyuuga!" He quickly moved around his circular desk and darted in front of Natsume. "Ms. Hyuuga informed me that you'd be joining us today with a guest!" He turned to Mikan, "Hello, I'm Fukutan, it's a pleasure to meet you!"

Mikan took the hand he held out and shook it, after a very brief pregnant pause. She was taken aback. Did receptionists usually greet guests like this? "Hi," she smiled, hoping it looked sincere and not awkward, "I'm Mikan Sakura."

"Delighted! Do you come to the Matsumoto Gallery often, Ms. Sakura?"

"I-um," she cleared her throat, then replied more clearly, "Yes. I love it here."

"Wonderful! Are you on our Matsumoto Member's List?"

"No, I don't think so—"

"Oh, it's our exclusive list! I'll put you on it," Fukutan was already jotting her name down, "with it, you can come here for any event with free entry and complimentary drinks."

 _Exclusive list, say what? Holy shit,_ Mikan internally shrieked, _am I also reaping the benefits from nepotism? An indirect nepotism?_ Then, she shrieked even louder (in her head, of course), _Holy fuck! I'm no different to Narumi! I'm getting free entry and drinks thanks to his connections! Natsume is my Reo and we met at_ Reo _'s… goddamn!_

"That would be nice," Mikan rather sheepishly said, in a measured tone (especially compared to the voice in her head that now wondered whether anyone had ever called her _Ms._ Sakura before…).

He looked up at her with a dazzling smile. "That's done, Ms. Sakura. Would either of you like me to take your jacket to the cloakroom?" He glanced to and fro between them.

Natsume looked at Mikan. She shook her head. "No, it's fine Mr. Fukutan," Natsume replied politely, "we'll just go straight through."

"Would you like me to personally go and grab you a hot drink before the talk? They are only serving champagne and orange juice."

Again, Natsume looked at Mikan. Once again, she shook her head, but now with a slight blush. "No, it's alright. Thank you, Mr. Fukutan."

"Certainly! Any time! In fact, if you decide otherwise, just tell one of the staff members and I will deal with the issue directly." came Mr. Fukutan's enthusiastic response.

"Thanks,"

"Thank you so much!" Mikan couldn't believe this man's hospitability.

He bowed again and again as Mikan and Natsume walked away, almost as though they were some big hotshots. Well, Natsume very well could be, but herself? Mikan couldn't but help feel a slightly guilty. Some part of her wanted to run back and confess to Mr. Fukutan that her life was actually totally unglamourous: she's neck-deep in student loans and only last week, she had to exterminate the cockroaches in her boss's office. She didn't think she belonged on that exclusive list…

But then she remembered how expensive some of the talks were here and how she should never say no to free drinks.

She felt very conflicted, but the recent increase in alcohol price helped to make her mind up, pacifying the internal dilemma.

"Is he still bowing?" Natsume murmured, once they were out of his earshot.

Mikan couldn't bring herself to look back. She hazarded a guess, "My gut says yes."

"Mine too."

She giggled. "Is he always that nice?"

"Yes. He doesn't have an off switch."

They both heard the low buzz of conversation. Mikan looked up at Natsume excitedly; he was just happy that she was happy. They had reached the splendid Hall, with tall ceilings, beautiful artwork, sparkling glasses and little canapés. The chairs and podium were set up further down the lavish hall; here, at the forefront, the conversation was churning, twinkling—men and women from all ages were talking to one another about, who knows, perhaps of Michelangelo.

Before Mikan could verbalize her excitement (and thank Natsume once again for this opportunity), a dark-haired girl in a red dress appeared before them. She looked rather cross.

"You're _late_ ," Aoi Hyuuga accused her older brother, with a reproachful frown. But then, she turned to Mikan and her forlorn expression melted—with a new, sunny smile, she remarked, "You're not Luca!"

She smiled back, "No, I'm not. I'm Mikan,"

"I'm Aoi!" she chirpily replied, "His little sister."

 _Oh fuck,_ Mikan thought, terrified all of a sudden. She had no idea that Natsume's little sister would be here. _I'm wearing her fucking clothes, oh my God._

She did her best not to panic, and tried clearing her racing mind as she remarked, as coolly as possible, "Your eyes are the same colour."

"Do you work with Natsume?"

"No, I—"

At the same time, Natsume said, "No, she—"

"Oh my God!" Aoi suddenly squealed, interrupting them both with a jubilant smile, and to Mikan's horror, she was now pointing at her, "I have that top too! From _Stella_ , right?"

"Um…"

 _Oh, God._

"Ooh, and those black jeans too!"

 _Oh, please let this stop._

Mikan grimaced, bracing herself and lo and behold, the final blow came.

"And hey, I have that jacket too!" But then, Aoi frowned. "… Hey… wait a second…"

The pieces were laid all before her. She looked both at Natsume and Mikan with a quizzical eye. She couldn't miss both their guilty looks. She also noticed Mikan's heels, which did not go with the outfit… shoes that would otherwise be great for a night-out—

"Oh my _God!_ " Aoi clapped her hands to her mouth, "Are you two—"

Mikan immediately launched into an apology, "I am _so, so_ sorry! I didn't know you'd be here—but that's no excuse, really—um, I promise I'll dry clean every single item and—"

Aoi started to laugh hysterically, so much so that bystanders looked upon the trio curiously, wondering what Ioran Hyuuga's children and the brunette were talking about ( _no doubt about something very intellectual_ , they all thought; oh, how wrong they all were).

"Aoi, it's my fault," Natsume now stepped in, "I told her to borrow your clothes. I honestly didn't think you'd notice—"

Mikan looked at him incredulously, and her mouth moved before her brain could stop it, "Um, what?! What girl would _not_ recognize her clothes on someone else? Are you crazy?!"

"I didn't know—"

"So, if I gave my cousin your clothes and he wore it the next day, you wouldn't even bat an eye?"

"No," came Natsume's honest answer, "probably not."

Mikan gaped at him. "Unbelievable!"

Aoi's laughter doubled and bubbled, her clapping hands accompanying the raucous chuckle.

Mikan turned to her, "I'm _so_ sorry—"

"It's fine! They're just _clothes_ ," Aoi insisted, still laughing, "I just can't believe the look on your face. And is my brother an idiot or what?"

"Oi," Natsume warned.

"I am really sorry—"

"It's fine, _I promise!_ And honestly, that top looks infinitely better on you. That brown colour never really suited me anyway." She waved off the apology. Her laughter had subsided and Natsume didn't miss that devious twinkle in her eye.

Aoi now regarded Mikan with a very, very interested eye. Mikan couldn't help but feel as if she were being examined, especially as Aoi's wolfish grin extended. She looked as if she were enjoying this exchange immensely.

Mikan usually could handle these situations. But at that second, her flight mode kicked in. A perfect excuse presented itself in the corner, "I'm going to go buy a brochure," she announced, doing her very best to sound confident and steady, "I'll be right back."

Natsume nodded and watched her go. He tried to ignore his little sister who was now coughing pointedly, nudging him suggestively and staring at him with greedy, beady eyes.

Finally, he caved. "What do you want?"

"So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?" She devilishly asked, getting straight to the point.

"Aoi, stop it,"

"What!" Aoi put her hands up defensively, "Is it so wrong of me to be interested in my brother's _dating_ life?" Her eyebrows were now raised, challenging him to deny her unsaid allegations.

"You're such a pain in the ass—"

"You are a literal _ass_. Like, honestly. You didn't think _I'd_ notice? Ha!"

Natsume groaned and hit a fist to his forehead. "Fuck." He didn't need his sister to tell him twice that he fucked that one up.

"So? You met her last night?"

"What—"

"Her _shoes_. She's wearing clubbing heels."

"What the hell is that—"

" _Ugh, men_." Aoi pulled a face. "Unlike you boring sods who were the same shoes all year round, us girls have different shoes for different occasions. She is currently wearing typical 'night-out' shoes. So, I'm deducing that she came home with you last night, wearing something that wasn't quite morning friendly, and that's why she's wearing my clothes that I left at yours. Her feet look smaller than mine, meaning she couldn't fit into my shoes, and so, she's wearing her heels from last night. Am I wrong?"

"… Jesus Christ, Aoi—"

"Aha! I'm right! I'm right!" She celebrated.

"Be quiet," he pleaded, "don't make this more embarrassing than it already is."

"She can't hear us. It's fine." She then changed the subject; "I thought you went out with Luca last night. Bit shit of you to leave your friends for a one night stand, no?"

"I didn't leave them." Natsume revealed before adding, "And don't say that. It's gross to hear you say it."

"What? One night stand?"

"Stop."

Aoi shrugged, "Natsume, I don't know if you're aware, but we're both adults now…"

Natsume glared at her. "Well, don't say it in front of her."

Aoi's grin turned devious once more—she could read her brother like a children's book. "Hey, you like this girl…"

"So stop fucking this up for me," Natsume smoothly replied, glancing in Mikan's direction. She was animatedly talking to the vendor, holding two brochures in her hands.

"If you like her, why on earth have you brought her here?" Aoi questioned earnestly. "This is the worst place on earth for a date."

On that point, he definitely agreed with Aoi. Nevertheless, he defended his choice, "Not according to her. She wanted to come. She likes father's paintings. Oh, Jesus—" he swore under his breath, and Aoi twirled her head in the direction Natsume was now looking at, "here it comes…"

Kaoru Hyuuga was gliding her way towards her two children. Bystanders regarded the beauty, marveling at her grace and poise, as she walked with her chin held high and a pensive and intelligent expression on her face.

She now regally stood before them, and before Natsume could greet his mother, she very bluntly inquired, "Who's that girl?"

Natsume grimaced. Why on earth did he think this was a good idea? "Hello to you too, mother."

She did not return the hello. Instead, she raised her eyebrow and urged him impatiently, "Well? Who is she?" She glanced in Mikan's direction. "I saw you two come in together. I saw you talking. So, who is she?"

Natsume didn't know what to say. Finally, "Uh, a date?"

Kaoru Hyuuga frowned. "Why do you sound unsure? Is she or not?"

"She is," Natsume confirmed, his voice regaining its usual level of confidence. He met her steady gaze and held it with candour.

Suddenly, Kaoru's expression changed; she looked perplexed as she now noticed her son's swollen lip. "What on earth happened to your lip?"

At first, Natsume was bewildered by the sudden change in the conversation subject. He had expected his mother to ask more questions about Mikan, so this particular question was a total curveball.

"Uh, I…" he didn't want to admit that he had been punched by a drunk, short girl, and so, he slowly said, "I… I saved Mikan from a raging drunk."

Kaoru looked momentarily impressed. Aoi looked positively sceptical.

"That's jolly brave of you." Kaoru commented, before, "Mikan? Is that her name?"

As if uttering her name had summoned her, Mikan now appeared before them, reclaiming her spot next to Natsume. Natsume smiled encouragingly at her, Aoi grinned cheekily (as if she couldn't wait for the show to unfold) and Kaoru inspected the brunette curiously.

"Hello," Mikan warmly smiled in Kaoru's direction, "I'm Mikan Sakura."

"Charmed. I'm Kaoru Hyuuga but I'm sure you know that already," she pointed towards the two brochures Mikan was holding—both brochures had Kaoru Hyuuga's face on the covers.

"Yes; I'm a big fan!"

"She loves dad's work," Natsume echoed, "in fact, she loves his Portra—"

Kaoru clearly did not want to talk about her husband's work. She clearly, very simply, wanted to find out more about her son's date, about this pretty girl who would, she was sure, make wonderfully attractive children with her son. ( _Let's not get ahead of ourselves dear,_ she internally chided herself, dispelling the beautiful vision of little kids with black hair and brown eyes).

And so, she interrupted her son, "Natsume was just telling us about the raging drunk that he saved you from."

Mikan frowned, confused. "Wha—" She caught Natsume's eyes—eyes that were telling her to tell a lie. "… Um, I mean yes. _Yes_. This, uh, seven-foot guy tried to, um, kidnap me and Natsume saved me. That bruised lip is his badge of honour."

Natsume smirked, amused. She returned it as discreetly as possible.

Aoi didn't believe Mikan. But Kaoru, who thought very highly of her handsome son, didn't doubt such absurd scenario. Instead, she praised, "My son is very chivalrous. He'd make an excellent husband,"

Natsume knew exactly where this was going—before his mother could ruin things further, Natsume stepped in, cautioning, " _Mum_ —"

"Or an excellent bodyguard," Aoi sniggered, teasing.

" _Aoi…_ "

"Natsume," Kaoru suddenly said, "go fetch me a glass of mimosa. I'm parched."

"Just take ask that waiter," Natsume tried his best to get himself out of this situation, "he's holding a tray of wine. Have that instead."

"I said mimosa, Natsume. You need to go order one. One-third orange juice, two-thirds champagne." Her tone was firm: it was clear she was telling her son to go away and leave the girls alone, "Hurry, dear. The talk is starting soon."

He couldn't argue back; she had just used her final-warning tone. Before he reluctantly left, Natsume gave Mikan an apologetic look and threw Aoi a telepathic S.O.S that read 'make-sure-she-doesn't-fuck-things-up'. He skulked away towards the drinks' table.

Then, Kaoru turned to Mikan and the rapid-fire interrogation commenced.

"Kansai?"

"Yes," Mikan admitted.

"Where?"

"Kyoto."

"I'm from Osaka," Kaoru revealed (Mikan had guessed as much—she knew that dialect very well) before she smiled warmly. She reached out, and to Mikan's surprise, she looped her hands around Mikan's left arm before patting her forearm rather maternally, "I feel an affinity with you. I've always said Natsume needed someone from Kansai. All these Tokyo prissy snobs are too weak-minded for my baby. They don't understand him. He needs someone strong and outspoken, someone isn't afraid to call him out—someone from _Kansai._ "

Despite what she said and how she generally acted towards him, Aoi loved her brother. Truly. And she could see her brother needed her help more than anything right now. "Mum—"

She did her best to interrupt but Kaoru was smart; now that their arms were linked, Kaoru pulled Mikan along, drifting purposefully away from her interfering daughter.

And Mikan? Her eyes were just as round as saucers, flabbergasted. _Is this real life?_

"You're very beautiful," Kaoru continued, eagerly, "and I can see that my son thinks so too."

Mikan couldn't help the blush that crept up so sneakily on her face. If someone had told Mikan this time last week that Kaoru Hyuuga, i.e. the gorgeous woman in the Portraits, would one day compliment her looks, Mikan would have laughed raucously in their face. Once again, she wondered whether or not this was real life.

"Wine, ladies?" A man in a penguin suit held the tray of white wine steadily within their reach.

"I'm fine." Kaoru said, "My sons' getting me a drink. You should have one, Mikan. I chose the white wine for today."

"Oh, that's very kind but I'm alright. No thank you."

Immediately, and rather startlingly, Kaoru's eyes widened excitedly. "Oh? Are you pregnant?"

" _No!_ " Mikan cried, and then grabbed a glass of white wine from a tray to prove a point. Quickly, she took three big gulps. "Not pregnant!"

Kaoru looked slightly disappointed. She then shook it off, and continued fluidly, "You know, for the longest time I thought Natsume was gay. His best friend is, you know," she added in a rather proud tone.

"Yes, Luca-san." Mikan nodded, smiling. "He's lovely."

"Oh?" Kaoru's eyes widened again; the excitement had returned, "You've met his friends?"

"I've only met Koko, Mochu and Luca."

"Yes, those are his only friends," Kaoru said. "Luca's his best, best friend. Such a darling boy. When they were teenagers, I used to dream about them coming out together and being a couple. Then, when Luca came out, I held my breath for Natsume. Alas, it seems that was not in the stars for my son. But you'll do perfectly!" She added enthusiastically, patting Mikan's forearm once again.

Mikan was on the verge of combustion. She didn't want to upset Kaoru Hyuuga, but she thought it'd be best to inform her, "I'm not sure, I've only just met him—"

"So?" Kaoru shrugged, blasé and nonchalant. "When you know, _you know_. And my darling," she stopped walking, and now stood dead still, and deeply looked at Mikan, "I know that _you_ _know_. I have an eye for these things. And I don't care if you met him last week," ( _try a few hours ago,_ Mikan thought), "because the sequence of time is inconsequential for matters like this. When it hits you, you are spellbound then and there and _you know_. I did with Ioran. We knew from the moment we saw each other across the room. We had sex thirty minutes after we were introduced—"

Mikan choked on the wine that she had been drinking so diligently to distract herself.

"—he painted this portrait of me," she indicated to the red one printed on one of the brochures, "the following morning. _We knew_."

Mikan didn't know if she could ever look at that portrait the same way ever again.

Then and there, Natsume swooped to the rescue with the glass of mimosa.

"Thank you, darling," Kaoru took the glass.

"Ladies and gentleman," the microphone crackled as the curator tapped it, "ladies and gentleman, please take your seats. The talk will be commencing in three minutes."

"Let's go, dear," Kaoru said, pulling Mikan along.

Natsume swore under his breath as he saw his date being dragged away by his mother's painted red claws. "Aoi," he bit out, "you were supposed to stop _that_ from happening."

"She's a mother on a mission, Natsume. It's impossible. I'm sorry." She looked at her brother. "And I hate to say this to you, but I think mum just blew your chances. I only managed to catch snippets of their conversation as mum kept dodging me, but I'm pretty sure at one point I heard mum talk about pregnancy and her sex life."

"Oh, fucking hell." Natsume mumbled, slapping a hand to his eye.

He really should have thought twice about inviting the girl of his dreams to this family affair.

* * *

 **A/N:** See? I told you this fic is practically a parody!

One more chapter left :)


	7. I Will

**A/N** : I don't own Alice Gakuen!

 **I Will**

* * *

With a determined and fast pace, Natsume caught up with his mother and Mikan. Lithely, he slipped his hand into Mikan's free hand and firmly held her. Yet Kaoru did not let go and maintained her quick strides, her heels clicking against the marble floor, towards the VIP seats in the front. Aoi purposefully jostled behind them, saying 'Excuse me's here are there, feeling immensely sorry for Mikan who was caught in between two Hyuugas right now. Worse, the two most stubborn Hyuugas.

When they arrived at the front row, Kaoru turned to open her mouth, but Aoi spoke first, "Mum, I see Mr. Noda. You should go sit next to him."

Mr. Noda oversaw everything at the Matsumoto Gallery—his great, great grandfather had opened the Gallery back in the Meiji period. Kaoru briefly looked in his direction, and unluckily for her, she caught his eye.

"Hello darling," she called, waving at Mr. Noda, "I'll be with you in a second." She then turned to Mikan. "Why don't you sit next to me, dear?"

"But mum," Aoi cried, "I want to sit next to you!"

Kaoru did not believe her. "Darling—"

Aoi grabbed her mother's hand. "I need to speak to Mr. Noda anyway. I wanted to ask whether I could host an event here, and he's more likely to say yes if you're sitting in between us. Come on!"

Kaoru looked as if she wanted to protest, but Mikan felt her relent—soon, she was free from her clutches. Aoi now pulled her along, and Mikan smiled and gave a small wave as Kaoru promised that they would speak after her husband's talk.

She still held Natsume's hand. As soon as Kaoru's back was turned, Mikan exhaled quietly, relief flooding her; but then, she grinned, almost in a collaborative manner, in Natsume's direction.

"That was awful. I'm sorry," Natsume said; gently, he moved towards the two seats at the end of the row, far away from his mother, and they both sat down. They still held hands.

Mikan smiled at him. "Don't apologise."

"I wish that never happened."

Mikan admitted, "It was like nothing else I've ever experienced."

"I—"

"Hello ladies and gentleman," the voice rippled in the hall, "thank you for joining me today."

Immediately, Mikan's head snapped away from Natsume, and he watched her jaw drop in awe as she now looked at Ioran Hyuuga in the flesh. Her eyes were wide with respect. Natsume smiled. They were still holding hands. He brought her hand to his lip and softly kissed her knuckles.

"Today, I'll be talking about my paintings—specifically the ones I painted in the 1980s. Most art critics have dubbed this period of my life as the 'Portrait Era'; I confess, I have never liked this title. It seems such a cold, and distant title and I have a problem with the word 'Era', for it signifies a certain time-frame. Eras always end: the Renaissance, the Baroque, the Modernist, the Postmodern—I don't want my paintings to be categorised in this way. I don't mind being a postmodern artist, but to further compartmentalize by slicing up my career into so-called 'eras' is a step too far. It feels too scientific. Not to mention, I still paint portraits...'

Natsume faintly heard his father's mild voice as he watched Mikan. He had heard his father practice this speech many, many times. It was nothing new to him. But to look at this sweet, brave face beside him, flushed with awe… it was like nothing else. It felt completely new to him. With his thumb, he stroked the smooth skin of the back of her hand. These small touches felt more intimate than anything else he had ever experienced in life.

His father talking about how love informed his painting in the 80s became like background music to Natsume, murmuring distantly: it was the soundtrack to this perfect moment.

* * *

For the whole two hours, they held hands. It was only when Ioran Hyuuga concluded his speech, Mikan slipped her hand away so she could clap enthusiastically. Following her example, Natsume clapped too.

"That was amazing!" Mikan exclaimed, as she clapped, looking at Natsume with a bright smile.

Natsume was glad that Mikan had enjoyed the talk. He had only heard parts of it, truth be told.

Once the clapping gradually dimmed then ceased, the murmur of conversation rippled throughout the room. From the corner of his eye, Natsume saw his mother rush to his father up on the podium.

He turned to Mikan and was happy to see that she was still looking at him, beaming.

"Thank you for bringing me here. It was the nicest thing a man's done for me."

Natsume raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You must not have known many nice men."

"No one like you." Her eyes softened.

This _was_ different. Everything was different. Everything about her dating life so far told her to do the opposite of what she was currently doing: you give your number, wait three painful days for the text, finally go on a date, show your best side, tell pretty lies to look good, squash all of your flaws and bizarre tendencies, wait until the fifth date to do the deed, try not to become clingy, wait longer, finally date, try your best to make it last and then break up. This had been the consistent pattern. But everything was different with Natsume; she was not following some preconceived, shitty guideline; if anything, she had completely inverted it. For she had not given him her number yet, they had already spent a night together, they were currently on a date, and she was fearlessly showing him all her varying angles. There was no stopping—it was a continuous green go that pushed them freely along, with no signs of an end. More importantly, she was not ignoring how strongly she felt for him. She was attracted to him; she liked him and she was not shy to admit that to him or even to herself. She had only met him last night, but she felt she had got more out of their first evening together than she had done over the years with other men who had come and gone in her life. Somehow, she felt as if she already knew him, and with all her heart, she was convinced he thought the same way about her.

 _What's the point in playing games when I know how this is going to end?_ Mikan pondered, sagely and rather calmly.

"Natsume, I—"

"Darling! Here they are, here!" rung Kaoru Hyuuga's distinct voice. Both Mikan and Natsume looked around to see her dragging her husband along, Aoi trailing behind, looking absolutely exhausted. Natsume groaned. Mikan smiled widely, inclining her head slightly out of respect.

"Ioran, dear, this is the lovely lady I was telling you all about." She shoved her husband in front of Mikan.

"Hello, I'm Mikan Sakura," Mikan said, "Your talk was brilliant. I enjoyed it so much, thank you."

Before Ioran could respond, Kaoru looked at her husband ecstatically and added, "Isn't she wonderful? She's Natsume's girlfriend."

"Mum!" Natsume interrupted, embarrassed, his cheeks stained red. He felt as if he were ten and powerless again. How could he ever hope to have a functional relationship if his mother always ploughed through manically like a bull in a china shop?

"Oh, hush baby," Kaoru quite literally swatted away his protests, "you and I both know the two of you are going to get married within the next two years. Would you rather I introduce her as your fiancée?"

Natsume's jaw dropped, mortified, speechless. Mikan went as red as Natsume. Aoi awkwardly laughed as she thought, _well done mum—the chances of this girl's sticking around just fell by 17%._

Ioran Hyuuga finally spoke. "Kaoru, you've scared the poor child. Ignore her, Mikan-san; my wife likes to exaggerate. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Just then, Mr. Noda came towards the Hyuugas. Kaoru launched into conversation with him, and Ioran took this time to invite Mikan up to the podium, where a lot of his paintings mentioned in the talk were still displayed. She accepted—but when she turned to Natsume, she saw that he was now busy talking to Mr. Noda alongside his sister and mother.

"They do the boring business talking. Let us talk about other things,"

Mikan nodded and followed Ioran. As she walked away, she felt Natsume's warm gaze on her. Truly, when she turned back to look at him, he _was_ looking at her. He smiled and she returned it.

"Kaoru says that you like my paintings."

"I do." Mikan sheepishly admitted. "They're truly wonderful."

"She also says that my son likes you very much."

The Hyuugas, she came to realise, had no understanding of social boundaries. But Ioran was different—whilst Kaoru was bold, extreme and dynamic, Ioran was grounded, calm and collected.

Bravely, she replied, "I hope so."

"I see." He then turned and looking directly at Mikan, with a twinkle in his eye, "You know, my wife is always right."

That was all he said to her, but the implications were not lost to Mikan.

 _When you know, you know._

They now stood in front of the Red painting. Mikan suddenly remembered what Kaoru had told her about this painting. She shuffled onto the next one quickly, inspecting the Blue painting instead.

It was a surreal moment; looking at Ioran Hyuuga's paintings with Ioran Hyuuga himself. She felt as if she were in a painting all of a sudden. Everything felt still. Then, a warm hand on her lower back breathed her back into an animated landscape—pure feelings blossomed from Natsume's touch, spreading from her back to all the corners of her body. He was warm; he brought her back. She looked at him. She felt his hand slide across and grip her waist. She leaned back against him and her own arm circled his waist too.

 _When you know, you know._

And Mikan knew. And as she felt his grip tighten, she knew that Natsume knew too.

In his touch, Mikan felt her future.

Together, they stepped away from the paintings and drifted towards the exit, following the departing crowd.

"I told you we should have stayed in bed."

"Stay in bed and miss _this?_ Never. Not for all the tea in China. I had a delightful morning."

Natsume raised an eyebrow dubiously. "You think being interrogated by my mother is 'delightful'? Don't you mean 'dreadful'?"

"Hush," Mikan lightly swatted him, "don't be mean. Your family is the happiest family I've ever met." She murmured, smiling as she gazed up at Natsume.

"If that's what you want to call them," Natsume snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know why I thought they wouldn't be like this today. I should have known."

"Don't say that. I'm serious," Mikan laughed. "You're all the warmest people that I've ever met. You're very lucky."

"Well, I hope you won't mind if I don't invite them on our date next weekend," Natsume joked, "It'll just be plain old me."

Natsume was expecting her to tease him in response, so he was surprised when she sincerely replied, "Plain old you is perfect."

Emboldened by her courage, he decided to speak candidly too, "You probably won't see them, especially my mother, for half a year max. I don't want her ruining any chances I have with you."

"You think too little of me." Mikan pouted, "A Kansai woman, be it your mother or not, isn't enough to scare me away from you."

"So, you're still in?"

"I'm still in." Mikan promised—it was the sweetest sentence Natsume had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

"Natsume! Mikan!"

Natsume groaned, "Speaking of the Kansai devil…"

Kaoru appeared before them, her husband and daughter closely behind her. Ioran's steps were delayed by others—many were coming up to him to congratulate him on his talk and talent.

"Mikan, we're all going for lunch. I've already called the restaurant—they said they could squeeze you in too. You simply must come and join us!"

Mikan let go of Natsume; she thought it would be rude to be hanging on him so intimately as she spoke to his mother.

"That's very kind of you but I'm afraid I can't join you. I don't want to intrude on your family—"

"Nonsense, nonsense! You're _practically_ family—"

"Mum, what did we just talk about…" Aoi counselled warningly, her eyes pointedly narrowed.

Kaoru rolled her eyes impatiently. " _Fine_. But Mikan," she beseeched, "you won't be interrupting at all! We'd all love to get to know you."

"Again, that's very sweet, but I'm still going to have to say no. My flatmate is waiting for me." Mikan didn't think it would be fair if Natsume's family to got to know her before Natsume did so himself, alone. "Thank you for thinking of me, though. It's so kind of you all."

Kaoru pursed her lips, clearly disappointed. "That is a pity indeed," but then, she perked up, "darling, do give me your number—"

"No," Natsume quickly and rather firmly interjected—how could he not! Mikan had his business card, but he did not have her number yet. There was no way his mother was getting those digits before _him._

"Why not?" Kaoru frowned, not quite understanding how demanding she was being. "I need to invite her to Luca's brunch, the one _I'm_ organising—"

"I'll invite her," Natsume insisted, "so don't worry."

Ioran entered the conversation: "We must go, dear. We'll miss our reservation otherwise." When his wife's head was turned, he attentively smiled at his son. "Come on,"

Kaoru was clearly reluctant to bid a goodbye to her new daughter-in-law. There was still so much to tell her! She still needed to tell Mikan about the best facial moisturisers; the best mattresses; the best way to make strawberry shortcake, Natsume's favourite; the best locations for autumn or spring weddings; where to buy the best maternity clothes; where to get a good deal for pushchairs—oh, and how could she forget! She still needed to tell Mikan how Natsume liked to be tucked into bed after a nightmare!

But in the end, she surrendered. _There's still time_ , she reasoned, looking once again in the direction of Mikan's stomach (double checking, double checking—but alas, no visible signs of a baby bump…).

"Yes, let's go," she nodded. She then turned to Mikan. "We must talk soon! Don't be a stranger."

"I won't," Mikan promised. "I'm sure I'll see you soon, Kaoru-san."

Natsume scoffed quietly to himself.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mikan." Ioran bowed his head—Mikan hastily bowed back. "When you visit us, I'll show my art collection."

"I'd love that. Thank you."

And so, the two Hyuugas walked away. The youngest Hyuuga, Aoi, remained.

"It was lovely to meet you, Mikan," she embraced her.

Mikan smiled and hugged her back. "Again, I'm so sorry about your clothes—"

"Don't be." Then, Aoi murmured in Mikan's ear, "And don't let our mother cloud your judgment on Natsume, okay?"

Mikan laughed. "What could you possibly mean?" She teased.

Aoi joined her laughter. "On that note, I better go tend to her." She raised her hand in goodbye. "It was nice meeting you. I think we'll get along. Let's go for coffee sometime, okay?"

"Alright. Bye, Aoi,"

Before Aoi left, she looked to her older brother, "I'll order your usual. Take your time."

"Thanks, Aoi."

Aoi parted.

They were alone in the Gallery now; everyone else had left.

"So, next weekend?"

Mikan nodded. "Yes, please."

Natsume smiled, pleased. "Can I have your number?"

She pulled out her phone. To his surprise, she looked through her contacts and sent a text to 'Natsume'. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. "I saved it last night," she admitted: while he had been in the shower, Mikan had decided that she wanted to keep him.

He looked at his phone. Her message read, 'Me'.

"You," Natsume murmured, as he saved her number.

"Yes, _me_ ," Mikan looped her arms around his neck, and without wasting a second, Natsume leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

Both their eyes closed as their lips pulled and pushed, softly, lovingly, against each other. It was electric. It was tender. It was everything. Their lips slanted against each other, deepening the contact, fuelling the passion and the need to be as close as possible to one another; Natsume held her tightly and—

"Shit—" Mikan pulled away, her hand no longer in Natsume's hair, but touching her lip, "Natsume, you're bleeding!"

"Fuck," Natsume's hands immediately cupped his lips. He felt blood. "Shit, I got some on you too!"

Mikan wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then laughed incredulously. She had tasted it before anything else. Just like he had promised her last night, kissing him was an unforgettable experience.

"Don't worry about that. Poor you; let me go find some tissues."

She returned a minute later with a hefty wad of tissues. "Here, let me," She wiped his mouth clean.

"That was weird," Natsume said.

"I think you kissed a bit too hard." Mikan teased.

"I think you kissed me back a bit too hard." Natsume countered.

Mikan did not disagree with him. For the second time, Mikan cleaned Natsume up. She could feel his intense gaze on her; sometimes, she spoilt him by dealing him a very coy smile.

"There. All clean." She rewarded his patience with a kiss to his cheek.

Natsume kept some tissues, just in case it started to bleed again. He stuffed them in his pocket. Then, he held her hand and they both walked out of the Gallery.

"You sure you don't need a lift?"

Mikan nodded. "Very sure… I, um, live only two roads down."

He thought she was exaggerating. "Really, I won't mind. I can give you a lift."

"No; I'm being serious. I live on that street," she pointed.

Natsume was surprised. Last night, he had convinced her to stay by saying it would be more convenient in terms of distance. He had no idea that she lived so close to the Gallery! So close in fact, that if she had left his last night to go back home, she would have actually gotten more hours sleep. She could have just met him at the Matsumoto Gallery. But she didn't. Last night, she had chosen to stay with him.

"… So, then…" He didn't want to say it out loud.

He didn't have to. "Yeah," Mikan thoughtfully confirmed. She had not stayed at his last night because of the logical reasoning he had offered her—no, she had stayed at his because she really wanted to.

 _Oh, shit_ , Natsume thought, _she's the one._

"I'm going to text you all week," Natsume suddenly blurted out.

Mikan laughed. "I'll be replying to you all week." She then pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "You take it easy this week, alright? I want you to be completely healed next time I see you."

Smiling, he promised, "I will."

 _… And when at last I find you_  
 _Your song will fill the air_  
 _Sing it loud so I can hear you_  
 _Make it easy to be near you_  
 _For the_ things _you do endear you to me_  
 _Ah, you know I will…_  
 _I will …_

* * *

 **A/N:** The last bit was from the song 'I Will' by The Beatles. It's a very short and sweet song; I think it succinctly captures the essence of this chapter. Give it a listen :)

So, here we have it! I hoped you enjoyed this little story. For now, I've put this under 'Complete' but if I find myself inspired/wanting to revisit this fun lil world, I might write an epilogue for this: maybe their wedding so we get to see crazy Kaoru in action. Or perhaps Kaoru babysitting her grandchild? Haha, who knows – but mind you, I'm not promising anything!

Thanks for reading!


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